In Paradise
by TheVastraNararda
Summary: G1 based, semi AU. Optimus and Elita go for a total interface. What are the results? What does the furure hold? Baby Bee plus host of other characters.
1. Chapter 1: Breathless

_Hello everyone. Okay so I'm not a great writer, I'm not even a good writer, but it doesn't mean I don't like to write. I'm sure there are lots of people out there who know just what I'm going on about! _

_So please tell me what you think. Italics show talking though bonds. Bold represents talking though coms. Please read and review and please point out any spelling errors because I'm sure to have made a few as my proofreading leaves something to be desired. I hope I haven't crucified Transformers and I humbly apologise if I have. _

_Hope you like it. Enjoy. _

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><p><em><strong>In Paradise <strong>_

_Chapter one: Breathless _

'_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-_

_I took the one less travelled by,_

_And that made all the difference"_

_- Robert Frost_

Shrill laughter echoed though the Primes quarters, bouncing off the walls and dancing though the air before sharp audio receptors honed in on the sound.

Elita's optics flickered towards the door.

_~: Optimus, if I come in there and find you tossing him around again, you will remember why you no longer spar with me: ~ _she threatened though their bond. She felt Optimus wince slightly, and her mouth plates pulled up at one side.

_~: Yes Elita: ~ _was his sheepish reply. Needless to say, she soon couldn't hear the shrieking.

She sighed, smiling.

The orn before had been the most incredible day of her life since she had bonded with Optimus. That orn she had become a creator. She and Optimus had both become creators. They had formed a spark of there own. And as a smile crept over her faceplates she remembered the happenings of the previous orn, such a short time ago…

oOo

It was that time of night when the darkness began to drift away and the light began to set in. But for the most part it was dark.

Optimus lay on top of her, arching his back as his spark chamber opened in time with her own. Interfacing cables sealed into their ports, locking unlike a moment before when they could have been pulled free, as the point of no return passed. She felt their hard-line connection hit another level. She growled with lust and ran her digits along her mates' side plating. Roughly, she forced both her hands under the adjoining panels and rolled the sensitive wiring beneath between her digits.

She couldn't hear his pleasure; for the sheer power of said pleasure burned though their bond so powerfully it blocked all the outlets of her sensory receptors.

She snarled up at him, digging her digits in deeper, revelling in his explosive passion. He arched again, his chassis beginning to glow brightly as the strength of the powerful, bare and uncontained spark behind it, kept only in place by the force of his bonded, began to reach the required energy level. An energy level that could only be reached by a bonded pair, as only between two bonded bots could a life force be raised to work so hard without giving out under the sheer pressure of total interfacing.

It had taken over three joors and now they were so close. But they weren't quite there yet. Just one last push, Optimus thought. He grinned wickedly at Elita, who still had her hands embedded in the most sensitive part of frame, his lower side panels.

She had prayed on Optimus's interfacial weakness. So who would he be if he didn't return the explosion of emotions that were running riot though his frame, possibly corrupting data as they lashed through his memory chip and overheated his secondary energon lines, as his cooling systems fought a losing battle to protect both the primary line and the second? Optimus had been with Elita long enough to know the single spot on the single wire that would cause his femme to verge on an interface meltdown.

Elita saw the look. She knew what was coming. She knew the spot he was heading for. He was going to try to make this night even more memorable than it already was going to be. But Elita wasn't just going to hand herself over to him. A sly glint crossed her optics. She was going to make Optimus work for it. She grasped the wires she was playing with, and squeezed them.

Optimus released his grasp of Elita's waist, and slammed his hands down hard on her shoulder panels, almost denting the plating on her back as she hit the berth. Almost. He wasn't Ironhide after all, and nor was his femme Chromia.

He felt Elita spark though his grow stronger, calling out to his own just as it would with a regular interface of this kind, but with so much more force. There sparks were like magnets, drawing one to the other. They were so close. Optimus could feel his spark pounding against his chassis with an energy like he had never known; begging to either be closed back into his spark chamber or released to join it's other half.

He ground his digits under the armour of the femme's left upper shoulder panel. He felt the top of the motor socket powering her socket joint. He slid a digit along it to find four wires connecting it to the energon lines. It was the very first one he was looking for. The shortest, the thinnest and the most sensitive. He touched it lightly and his spark skipped at feeling Elita's sudden jolt of excitement. His slid his digit down the wire to the connector that attached the wire to the energon line. He stopped short at the connector resting his digit on the wire. Elita revved loudly. Optimus complied.

He pinched the wire between two digits and pulled gently on the wire.

Elita thrust upward at the small movement, forcing Optimus to let go. All the built up energy buzzed around them. She released Optimus's sides and grabbed him around the back of his frame, pulling him toward herself, pressing her mouth plates into his. They basked together in each others rampaging feelings, moving their mouth plating with the grain of the others.

Optimus hadn't felt this energized since they spark bonded. Somewhere in his processor his first creatorial instinct kicked it. The pre-programming that allowed him to create and raise a sparkling began booting up the moment he felt himself boarder on having the energy to create life. It was the most primal instinct that told him that his child needed him.

Optimus didn't realize the same thing had happened to Elita. Nor did he realize that it had happened at the exact same moment.

Their CPU's aligned and synchronized, their spark pulses pumping erratically with pleasure and anticipation, but for the first time, they pumped in complete unison. That only ever happened when two bonded reached the required amount of energy to create a sparkling.

Optimus pushed himself up from Elita breaking their intense kiss. It was time. They both knew. They chests were glowing blue white with the energy of the sparks they contained. Optimus positioned his chassis not a half meter above Elita's. They locked optics and a warm light passed from Elita's to his. There was nothing but pure love between their bonds now. No passion or lust, just love. That undying devotion to one another that came from being a bonded pair filling their systems. There was no greater show of love and trust between two bots than there was at this point of a total interface.

Total interfacing was dangerous if not done properly. It could be fatal. And because bonded pairs were essential tied to each other beyond death, if one died during the interface, the other would soon join them in the matrix. It was extremely rare for a bonded to survive without their mate. So to allow themselves to risk a total interface was a risk not taken lightly. But even so, fatalities were very rare. Complete unison made it difficult for anything to go wrong, even though it could.

They took one long last look at each other. They both smiled. With their minds as frames as one, they simultaneously opened their chassis and released their sparks. The bond between the sparks pulled them together. The light was blinding. A whistling static hissed from both sparks as they fled from the frames they had been trapped in, and with a whirling crash both sparks struck together with joors of pent up energy. A pure light filled the room. The power of the bots in question streaming out of their frames, joining with one another.

For the first time since there spark bonding decavorns ago, Optimus and Elita felt whole. Not simply as one, but whole. When there sparks hit each other, they bonded in a way they never had before. Now they truly understood what was meant by 'the pleasure of total interfacing', as Ironhide had put it.

It was a glorious feeling. Their sparks were not far enough away from their frames to lose a connection, proving they had overcome the dangerous part of the interface. The actual striking together of the massively energized sparks had actually only lasted a few astroseconds, but it felt that a vorn was slowly passing by, as they enjoyed the beauty of the moment. In truth, almost as soon as their sparks had connected they repelled one another, and were sent straight back into the spark casing they had come from, quickly sealed away to shield there drained life force.

All that was left between them was a tiny flickering light, suspended in place between the two bots by the built up energy still resonating from their frames. It shone brightly, buzzing with energy as it glittered in the rising light that came through the window. Elita could see the pulse going down it steadily, blazing brightly.

Optimus could feel himself being pulled towards it. He knew that feeling. It was strong and powerful. It was a bond. A bond to the new spark they had just created. Elita smiled, feeling it to.

Carefully, she reached a hand up to the spark and cupped it towards her bringing it closer to her chassis. She opened it again to the protest of her aching chassis joints that had been straining to keep her spark from escaping. She slipped the spark in and laid it gently against her spark chamber, closing her chassis again as she did. There the little spark would be safe and kept energized until they got down to med bay to allow Ratchet to put it into the sparkling frame he had made at their request. Optimus could have taken the spark instead, but seen as he had the matrix against his; it only seemed fair that Elita get to carry the spark. The spark would be safe but it would not last long in its current state. It needed to be gotten into its sparkling frame as soon as possible before it faded.

They said nothing they got up off the berth. They didn't need to. The emotions swimming around their bond were more than enough. Optimus never lost contact with Elita, neither physically or though their bond. They quickly made themselves presentable before hurrying out of their room, out of their quarters and then down to the med bay.

The halls were starting to come alive a little now. The Guard was in the process of a shift change, and a few early risers in general were starting to go about their orn. Optimus and Elita started to realize just how long they had spent creating their spark. It was no wonder that simply walking to the med bay and passing greetings to fellow bots washed them in exhaustion. The energy buzz was gone, being replaced by stiff joints, over worked motors and aching sensory receptors.

"Primus", Optimus rumbled rubbing his back subtly as he walked "I can remember the last time I was this tired". Elita passed him a drained smile, squeezing his hand tightly and reminding him of earlier…events.

"I don't think I've ever been this tired", she weakly laughed back. He smiled at her.

"It was worth it", he replied, standing a little taller, and walking with a little more dignity and purpose that was expected from the Prime and Primes Consort, as they passed the Guards protecting the chamber of the Allspark. Elita followed suite. The Guards nodded at them politely, and they inclined their heads back out of joint respect.

"Oh definatly", she almost sung back. She sounded like a youngling again with those words. Optimus smiled back grandly, his deep optics so peaceful. He couldn't remember how long Elita had wanted a sparkling. It wasn't that Optimus didn't want one; it was just that other things kept getting in the way. But now everything was stable and Cybertron was enjoying a steady peace.

Not that that pleased his brother, Megatron. The grouchy Lord Protector had been complaining to Optimus for vorns, that the Autobots were getting flabby without any real battle to hone their skills. Optimus could only laugh at his brothers complaints, replying in front of the entire Autobot assembly no less, that with him as their commander, why would they ever need to be at war to hone their skills. Optimus had seen many quickly covered smiles, smirks and grins pass across the countless lines of soldiers that stood before him. However Ironhide, Optimus's ever faithful, trigger-happy body guard had out right laughed. Megatron merely scowled. Ironhide and Optimus were among the proud and the few that could get away with laughing at the Lord Protector. The majority of the troops however, from frontliners to military tacticians, heavy-hitters to medical officers would not walk away in one piece for doing such a thing.

Optimus smiled wryly at memory. He was looking forward to seeing the look on his brother's face among others, when they discovered Elita and him had created a sparkling without their knowledge.

Elita must have been thinking something similar. "Do you think we should have told them? The others I mean; other than Ratchet. He was shocked enough when we asked him to make the first frame forty orns ago, and he still looked disbelieving yesterday", she sounded a little worried. Her free hand absently lifting up to hover over her spark…and the other. Another creatorial instinct. Protect the child.

Optimus cast her a sideways glance, reading her concerned face plates. He pulled her towards him in a rare display of public intimacy, her head only just reaching the top of his shoulders. He sent comforting signals to her.

He felt the other spark inside her weaken a little. He quickened his pace. They had to get it to its frame.

"No Elita, I think we did right by not telling them. And Ratchet was just surprised is all", he reassured. "Besides think of the reaction we'll get. Between Ironhide and Megatron babysitting me, and Chromia and Arcee watching your every move, it'll be good to show them they don't always know what going on behind closed doors". Elita had to laugh. He was right. It would be funny. And Prowl and Jazz? How would they react?

They rounded another corner and came to the entrance of the med bay. The massive double doors always looked ominous, even to the Prime, for even he knew to fear the mech inside. But they walked straight in non the less.

Ratchet was tapping away at a datapad when they knocked and entered his office, closing the door behind them. He looked up and upon seeing who it was he got straight up and whizzed over to them. He looked serious and concerned. He scanned them briefly as he did. He noted with the condition of their sparks, they had indeed achieved a total interface.

"Who has it?" was Ratchets first question.

"I do" Elita replied. Ratchet nodded. And then, as if out no where, a wrench was in his hand and with one swift movement it was slammed into Optimus's left thigh panels.

Optimus grunted but didn't say a word. A part of him had been expecting this.

"You annoying little slaggers! Do you have any idea how worried I've been?" Was Ratchets second question. "And what took you so long? I've been here all night and I haven't been able to get any recharge because I was too busy fearing that you two had offlined", he ranted, shoving the wrench threateningly at Optimus face. "You couldn't just have an Allspark sparkling could you, like every other Prime and partner. No, it had to be a total interface", there was anger and sarcasm in his voice and none of it came as a surprise. In fact, Elita and he had placed bets on who he would hit first. But seen as Elita had the spark, perhaps it was always going to be him. Neither Optimus or Elita blamed him for his words. He was right to be concerned. As a medic it was part of his programming.

Waving the wrench around again, the cranky CMO let a long suffering sigh blow out though his vents. He dropped his arms in defeat and he sub-spaced the wrench back into his sub-space pocket. He walked to the office door and opened it.

"Come" he said gruffly, getting over his 'the stupid Prime is trying to kill himself' fit, and now relaxing into medic mode, in order to bring another sparkling safely into the world.

Optimus and Elita followed the medic in a private room a little way into the med bay. Ratchet ushered them in and locked the door behind them. These two wanted privacy, and Ratchet was obliged by his oaths as a medic and his loyalty as their friend to give then that.

The room was simple set up. One berth in the middle surround by an assortment of scanner and monitors. A few locked cabinets hung from the walls containing medical supplies. A side board ran around the entire space, various instruments atop of it. It was an examination room.

But nothing in the room mattered apart from the tiny little form lying on the berth that was far too big for it. It was a small bundle of bright sunshine yellow. The colour? Picked entirely at random from a paint scope. Perhaps not what either of them had first imagined, but then they never really imagined being right here right now. It was a smaller than average size for a sparkling, but that didn't matter. It was a beautifully crafted frame. Ratchet had outdone himself.

"I know I said it yesterday Ratchet, but this frame is just stunning", Elita praised. Ratchet smiled back. But something else crossed his face plates…guilt, perhaps?

"Yes, about that. Well, seen as this was going to be for the sparking of the Prime and his Consort, I thought it best to get a little help with the frame", he mumbled the last bit. Elita stiffened beside him.

"From who?" Elita began interrogating, her voice a little sharp. There was the creatorial instincts again. Protect the child. She didn't like where this was going, "who did you tell?" she asked almost accusingly.

"I haven't told anyone", Ratchet half-snapped back. "I just thought it would be best if I got Wheeljack to help me. I told him it was for a noble. He may be my mate, but he is much younger than I am. I got the art of lying down well before he was even sparked. He is none the wiser", Ratchet replied, turning away from the pair and turning on the monitors that were now hooked up to the sparkling frame.

"And when he is the wiser?" Elita asked. Ratchet paused in his work and turned back to them, as slight hint of amusement on his faceplates.

"By the time he becomes the wiser Elita, I think chaos will have already ensued. Wheeljack will be my problem, Cybertron will be yours", he said with a sly smirk. The fraggin pit-spawned medic did have a point. Optimus hummed a laugh behind her. Elita just shook her head in defeat, smiling slightly as she did.

"Now", Ratchet began turning towards them. "I think we have left that spark in there quite longer enough", he gestured towards Elita chest. "It needs bringing into the world before its fades". Elita nodded, with Optimus pressing into her from behind.

Elita opened her chassis and gently guided the spark out. It was considerably weaker now than it had been upon its first creation. It was still bright, but the pulse was more irregular and strained. She passed it into Ratchets waiting hands.

The medic took hold of the spark. He picked up a scanner from the side board and directed it at it. It was weakened but still fully operational. No malfunctions. He put the scanner down allowing his own internal scanners to run a full diagnostic on the spark. All results read out clear for the go ahead.

"Everything looks fine", Ratchet said manoeuvring the spark towards the frame. He posited it above the spark chamber, letting it slide into its new home before the spark case quietly hissed shut. Ratchet closed the sparklings chest and stepped back to allow the creators to pick it up.

Instantly, a soft revving of internal systems booting up for the first time could be heard. Little digits twitched almost as soon as the spark was in its casing. And an astrosecond later, Optimus and Elita found themselves staring straight into two, tiny baby blue optics. They were staring up massively at the rose colour femme who was holding it. It squeaked in curiosity.

_~:Wow:~ _Optimus whispered though their bond, staring at the simply massive optics of his sparkling. ~:_It's…it's..:~_

_~:…Beautiful:~_ Elita finished for him, inwardly laughing. It wasn't often her bonded was at a loss for words. But the emotions he sent to her were more than coherent enough to project the love he held.

"All of his systems are operating properly. No malfunctions. He might have been weakened but it hasn't caused him any problems", Ratchet spoke softly.

Optimus gaze never left the sparkling, but he did register was Ratchet had said, and one part in particular.

"He?" Optimus asked, taken aback slightly.

"Yes. Congratulations, you have a newly sparked little meching", he said kindly, switching off the monitors and removing the connectors to the sparkling. He moved out of the door silently to give the new creators some time with their sparkling.

At the sound of Optimus voice, the 'newly sparkled little mechling' had cocked his head towards him, and at the sound of Ratchets, the meching had turned his head in the direction of him, transfixed on medic as his pulled chords out of his little frame. His optics followed the luminous yellow mech as he left the room. As the door clicked shut, the sparkling lurched forwards in that direction, giving out another squeak of shock. The mech had disappeared. How had he done that?

Optimus and Elita smiled at his antics. Elita ran one digit lightly head the side of his helm soothingly, balancing the sitting sparkling on her palm. The sparkling looked at her, then to Optimus and then back to her again. They both felt a strong tug in their sparks. They sent out all the love they had though the new bonds they shared with their sparkling. And in response, the little mech launched into a series of happy clicks and buzzes, shifting forward onto his knee panels and making grasping motions towards both his creators. He could _feel_ them. He could feel them _inside_ him. He didn't know how, but it didn't matter. A part of his processor subconsciously recognised that the spark presences' of Elita and Optimus were a direct link in his own, thus proving they were his Creators. That was the first piece of sealed data that his processor ever stored. Not that the sparkling realized what his internal programs were doing. All he knew was that these two bots were _his_ adults, and that _they loved _him.

_~: I know bots say this all the time but…Primus, we made one adorable sparkling: ~_ Elita sent out, leaning over the sparkling and pressing her forehead against his. The mechling hugged her faceplates as she did, nuzzling her back.

Chuckling at Elita's words, Optimus bent down and gently pressed his own forehead into his sparklings. The young mech latched himself onto Optimus cheek panels and pushed himself as hard as he could into the large red and blue mech. He clicked at him, refusing to let go. This creator was different from his other. He could feel something strong pulsing along side his adult's spark. It felt warm and powerful. It felt like… safety.

Optimus simply curled his hand around the sparkling and gently tugged him free, handing him back to Elita. He knew why the sparkling had refused to let go. It was because his own spark combined with the power of the matrix seemed to draw sparklings and younglings to him. The echoing between the two calmed them. Given the chance, Optimus had often found himself swarmed by inquisitive children, trying to get a better grasp at what they were feeling. But for his own sparkling, that feeling was twinned with the creator bond. For his little spark, the pull would have been so much stronger.

"Hello, my little sweetspark" Elita murmured softly. The mechling twittered back, all but bouncing on her palm. Her voice was enchanting. It sung to him. "Welcome to this life".

_~: He needs a name, Elita: ~ _

_~: Yes, he does: ~_

_~: I have no preference. I will leave that to you: ~_

Elita thought for a short moment, looking at the sparkling in her hand that Optimus was entertaining. Then it hit her. The name just fit.

_~: Optimus I think I have one: ~ _

_~: So soon?:~ _He had been expecting Elita to take some time deliberating the name of their child.

_~: Yes. It just…feels right. What do you think to the name, Bumblebee?: ~ _

Optimus looked at Elita and then to his sparkling. He smiled genially. Yes, he could see what she meant. It did feel right.

_~: I like it. Bumblebee it is: ~_

"Welcome to our family, little one", Optimus cooed, "We've been waiting for you. We'll never leave you. You are ours and we are yours". He picked the wide opticed mechling up, and held him close between the two of them, lovingly, he tone matching. "I am Optimus Prime-

"And I am Elita One-"

"And we are your Creators", Optimus said, smiling at the excited young bot buzzing with energy in his hand.

"And you-" Elita began.

"You are Bumblebee" they said in unison.

"And you are our sparkling" Optimus finished, running a digit over the sensitive wiring under Bumblebee's chin.

The young mech smiled and laughed brightly. He did not understand all of what his creators were saying. He had limited vocabulary in his language banks. He only knew the essentials. He didn't have definitions for most words. But still, he managed to get the gist of what his creators were saying. He knew their names and now he knew his. Bumblebee. He liked that name. He liked the way it sounded. He liked his creators even more for giving him that name. But his laughter was short lived at the sound of a crash outside the door.

The change in his creators was instant. Optimus pulled him into the large mechs heavily armoured frame, shielding him. Elita sprung in front of them, poised on the balls of her feet. Both sub spaced weapons; Optimus opting for his favoured, traditional style energon sword, with Elita choosing a more modernized roll-angled plasma rifle. They would protect there child.

**~ Optimus, Elita, I think it would be best if you came and greet your… visitors ~** Ratchet said over the coms, his voice lined with humour. **~ And put your weapons away, you'll scare **_**him**_

Sure enough, Optimus felt Bumblebee's fear though his bond, and pulling the sparkling away from him, he saw the little mechling had curled into the smallest ball he could make. Optimus felt guilty and sent at calming signals to help soothe the little spark. Optimus lifted Bumblebee by his scruff bar and placed him back into Elita's arms, moving to the door with her as he did.

Their battle sensors started to pick up the several spark signatures from outside. They shared a puzzled look, dread slowly sinking into their sparks. They had a feeling they knew what had happened outside.

_~: Do you think he did? : ~_ Elita asked, stroking Bumblebee's back as he clung onto her chassis, still afraid.

Optimus shook his head slightly in amusement.

_~: Of course he did: ~_ he hummed back. Knowing Ratchet, he would most likely have reported the Prime being involved in a medical emergency across the coms to higher ups. And said higher ups were now on the other side of that door.

Optimus placed an arm around his femme's waist and opened the door. They stepped out, and Bumblebee peered up, still snuggled close to Elita, curiosity getting the better of him.

_~: Well would you look at that: ~_ Elita laughed to her mate.

_~: I like this feeling. We should create sparklings more often: ~_ Optimus replied, taking the situation for all it was worth, recording this moment and saving it several times to ensure he never lost it.

Megatron was standing closest. His broad, grey frame flopped forward a little in disbelief. It was difficult not to laugh at his reaction. The poor Lord Protector, for all his good grace, looked like he'd been smacked in the face with one of Ratchets wrenches.

The hulking, massive, mat-black form of Ironhide behind him, nearly fell over, unable to properly comprehend the sight before him.

Chromia stood by her mate's side, looking at Elita and the sparkling she held. She caught Elita optics and passed a beaming smile to her. Even though she was reported to be even more trigger-happy than her mate, her nature as a femme took over. She had only nine vorns ago released her and Ironhide's second sparkling into its adult frame. Ironhide didn't want another for a while, but this new development was sure to quell the feisty femme's needs.

And a little way off to the side of them, Ratchet and a particularly small, light grey, mech, only slightly larger than a minibot, were leaning over the source of the crash.

Prowl. It appeared the mechs extremely advanced battle computer had not been able to handle the surprising news that Optimus and Elita had to offer, and it had overloaded causing a processor crash. That of course, had resulted in his relatively large frame hitting the floor, which was what had startled the new creators.

When the door had opened however, the smaller mech had looked up and away from Prowl, his mate, and even though surprise was written over his face plates, a cheeky grin was quickly spreading across them instead. Jazz was like that. He loved surprises, mainly because it was so hard to surprise special ops agents. He was clearly very happy at this new development.

And that left Ratchet who, after helping coax a now sitting, slowly rebooting Prowl out of stasis lock, looked up. Optimus gave him a disapproving look, but he couldn't keep it. In the blink of an optic, his gaze became warm and thankful. After all he had much to thank Ratchet for. He was much older than he was. Ratchet was the acclaimed medic he was now before Optimus had even been sparked. Optimus couldn't bring himself to be mad at the medic, simply because he had gone behind his back, and obviously honed in on their voices, playing the last part of their naming Bumblebee across the com lines. At least Optimus and Elita had gotten to see all their reactions.

But for Bumblebee, meeting all these new bots was just too much. They were staring at him, and he felt intimidated. They looked so _big_, and the way they were looking at him, scared him. He cringed back into Elita warm frame, knowing there he would be safe. But curiosity was too much for him to handle as well. One little bright blue optic carried on scanning the room, taking in everything and everyone, until eventually, he caught sight of the yellow mech that could disappear. Bumblebee jolted forward in wide curious shock. He wanted to be able to be able to disappear and reappear like that bot could. Bumblebee looked up to Elita, tugging on one of her chest plates to get her attention, before turning back towards Ratchet, pointing a little digit in his direction. He looked back up to Elita still pointing at Ratchet and he clicked at her, making his wishes known.

Click. Buzz. Click. Twitter. Chirrup. Buzz. Click.

And just as Ratchet had foretold, chaos ensued.

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><p><em>Thank you for reading, hoped you all enjoyed it. <em>

_Please review and tell me what you think. Please don't hate me if I haven't got the attitudes of the character right. I'm don't have all that much knowledge of the Transformers G1 series other than what I have read though other fanfictions. If you like it though, I have started another chapter and have a story planned out. This was more of an information chapter and a set up for the future. But there isn't much point continuing if you don't like it, and I'm all for a bit of honest criticism, just please go about in a nice way. _

_Btw, as far as I am aware the concept of total interfacing is my idea. I've read a lot of peoples own ideas about how transformers can create life beside the use of the Allspark, and I liked the ideas. This just came to me as I was writing it. I liked the way creating life outside of the Allspark could be dangerous, which was why only bonded pairs, something rare in itself, could create life by themselves. This way, it still allowed for the fact that the Allspark was needed for the continued survival of the Cybertronian race. Just to clarify, total interface sparkling are uncommon, making up only around 10% of all sparklings. _

_Lots of people have started naming chapters after matching songs to them so I thought I would join on the band wagon. The song for this chapter is __**"Breathless**__" by __**the Corrs. **_


	2. Chapter 2: Electricity

_Hello everyone. _

_So please tell me what you think. Italics show talking though bonds. Bold represents talking though coms. Please read and review and please point out any spelling errors because I'm sure to have made a few as my proofreading leaves something to be desired. I hope I haven't crucified Transformers and I humbly apologise if I have. _

_Hope you like it. Enjoy. _

_Thank you to __**MissCHSparkles**__, __**Wolf Prime**__, __**firebird234**__, __**headlong-for-freedom**__ and __**Yuuname**__, for your favourite story adds. _

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><p><em><strong>In Paradise <strong>_

_Chapter Two: Electricity_

"_The man in the wilderness asked of me,_

_How many strawberries grow in the sea?_

_I answered him as I thought good,_

_As many red herrings as grow in the wood"_

_- Anon_

Prowl had nearly crashed again when he saw the sparkling for the first time. In fact he would have done, if it wasn't for the fact that the hardline connection Ratchet had implemented from himself to Prowl, hadn't prevented him from doing so.

As he walked with his mate to the recreational room that same evening, he still couldn't really wrap his CPU around it. Even when he'd held the bundle of yellow wires, it still just didn't seem real. He couldn't believe that Optimus and Elita had created a sparkling… and outside of the Allspark no less. Uncommon as it was to do so, Chromia and Ironhide had, he and his mate had and now Optimus and Elita? It was almost unheard of for a Prime to risk possible death for the production of a sparkling. Between Megatron and Ironhide it was a wonder the med bay and Optimus had survived this orn intact.

After Chromia and Elita had left, Bumblebee slumbering in his femme creator's arms, Optimus had been at their mercy. Such as their mercy had been. If it hadn't been for Ratchet threatening them with reprogramming if they so much as put one scratch on the floor of _his_ med bay floor, it was likely that Optimus would have been offlinned by now. Perhaps not intentionally, but the Lord Protector and Trigger-Happy were not exactly known for their sense of self control.

Though Prowl himself had no particular opinion on the matter, it did concern him. All his battle computer had been doing but churning out odds of possible abductions and how it would affect Prime and so on and so forth. But one thing his battle computer had deemed certain. Bumblebee would become a target. And that was a problem. But his mate either couldn't see that which was highly unlikely, or he wasn't bothered by it. Jazz had been positively delighted at the news. He'd been acting like an over-energized cyber cat all orn.

"Have you caught a virus?" Prowl enquired calmly, studying his mate as he all but bounced along the hallway. Jazz calmed a bit and gave his bonded a funny look at the seemingly random question.

"Nah…'av ya?" Jazz asked back, confused. Prowl raised his eyebrow ridges a little. He considered Jazz's question, before releasing air from his vents and shaking his head.

"No, it's just…" he paused, deliberating what to say before continuing, "I just don't understand how you and Chromia can be so unruffled about Prime's sparkling", Prowl admitted. Jazz stopped walking and stared at his mate. Then he did a very typical Jazz thing. He outright laughed at Prowl. Passing Autobots and on shift Guards looked their way, but at seeing the inert enforcer and his almost collapsing special ops other half, they carried on as if nothing had happened.

After a quarter breem of making fun of his mate, Jazz managed to get a hold of himself. Then he promptly and completely without warning jumped up onto the motionless mech.

The shocked Prowl could only stand there as more than a few shell-shocked faceplates turned their way at seeing the supposedly emotionless commander, being scaled by his mate. Jazz got himself optic to visor with his partner and swung an arm around Prowl's neck before pushing his forehead into Prowl's own. Still half chuckling he spoke.

"Dis really gets in ta ya battle computers motherboard, don't it?" Jazz mocked. He couldn't help but chortle again at the look on Prowl's face. It was priceless. It was a good job he had recorded the moment. It would be good to show at Prowl's next landmark decavorn party, even if it was quite a way off. Jazz pressed his mouth plates briefly against Prowl's own before lightly smacking his mate's faceplates, hopping off him and moving off down the hall. Prowl stood frozen. A least a dozen mechs and the odd femme were in the same state, staring at him and the swaggering off form of the almost minibot. Jazz glanced back over his shoulder and called to his mate.

"C'mon Prowl, we 'av a youn'lin' ta pick up an a unlucky babysitter ta save. Poor Smokescreen prob'ly bin over run ba now av'in ta look after four youn'lins' ba imself", he called, beckoning his black and white counterpart to follow him. Prowl shuttered his optics a few times before going after his mate, faceplates still blank in disbelief. He couldn't believe Jazz had just done that _in public_. It was fine for other couples but he… he wasn't like that. Jazz _knew_ he didn't like doing that sort of thing were bots that were his underlings no less, could see him.

**~ Did you see what I just saw? ~**

**~ Did that really just happen? ~**

**~ Sweet Primus ~**

**~ I didn't think I would ever see **_**that**_

**~ Hey Thundercracker, you're never going to believe what I just saw… ~**

**~ No I didn't record it, I didn't have the chance to ~**

**~ It's a wonder Prowl didn't crash ~**

**~ Does Jazz have a virus? ~**

Prowl easily broke into the various com lines of the Autobots behind him, inwardly groaning at their comments. He bore his eyes into the back of the small, grey mech a little way in front of him.

_~: Jazz…: ~_ Prowl growled, aggravated.

_~: C'mon lover mech, bin decavorns since we've ad angry inta-facin: ~_ Jazz jibed, laughing again though their bond. He'd heard the remarks of the other Autobots as well. But oh how he enjoyed getting under his impassive mechs plating.

_~: Your not going to have an interfacing port left when I'm through with you: ~_ Prowl rumbled, promising Jazz as much pain as he would get pleasure. Jazz quickened his pace. The sooner he got to the rec room the better. Prowl wouldn't put something over on him while there was people around, and he sure as Pit wouldn't while their youngling was present. But he wasn't for giving up on playing with Prowl just yet.

_~: Oooo sounds exciting! Can I record it? : ~_ Jazz innocently requested, pushing lust and desire though their bond.

_~: No you cannot slaggin record it! : ~_ Prowl roared in a rare display of temper. Checking the hallway was clear, and scanning for signs of near by spark signatures and finding none, he yanked his attempting to escape mate and hauled him to a nearby empty conference room, tapping the entrance code and locking the door as he did.

If Jazz wanted angry interfacing then by Primus Prowl would give it to him.

oOo

_(Earlier that joor)_

There were very few children in Crystal City. It was the largest military base on Cybertron, home of the Prime and Lord Protector. Though it wasn't against the rules to have sparklings and younglings most chose not to. They either didn't have the time or they felt it was too dangerous an environment to raise young ones in. And since Prowl and Jazz had there sparkling reformatted two vorns ago, there was only younglings in the city, and still only four of them. Until now. Now it seemed there was a new sparkling in rotation, and this one belonged to a very special couple indeed.

The femmes received more than a few inquisitive looks as they walked. After rousing Bumblebee a few joors earlier much to the little mechling's displeasure, Elita had managed to sweet-talk him into drinking some energon. But in-between throwing a fit at being rebooted and being filled with warm plus lulling sparkling grade energon, he had quickly been run out of strength again and was now deep in recharge in Elita's arms.

"I still can't believe you didn't tell me." Chromia spoke, put out.

"I know Chromia, but we didn't tell anyone. You weren't alone in your lack of knowledge" Elita reasoned, fighting desperately to keep a smile from her faceplates. That would only anger her friend.

"You told Ratchet" Chromia argued with a scowl.

"We told Ratchet and asked him to make the frame because he is the _Chief Medical Officer._ Because he's the best at what he does. Would it have made you happier if we had asked First Aid or Percepter perhaps? Someone less experienced? Put our lives and Bumblebee's in their hands?" Elita contradicted, trying to force Chromia into feeling at fault.

"Don't do that" Chromia snarked.

"Do what?" Elita asked innocently.

"Try to make me feel guilty", she replied shortly.

"I wouldn't do that Chromia. You know I wouldn't" Elita denied, but secretly acknowledging that her friend had seen right though her plan. Slag. She was getting predictable.

"Yes you fraggin would. If you kept the creation of your sparkling from me, then I'm absolutely certain you have no reservations about trying to swindle me into feeling in the wrong" Chromia barked. Or half barked. She didn't want to wake the mechling recharging against Elita spark. After the screeching tantrum the new spark had made when the femmes had been forced to awaken him due to the lack of energon in his system from his initial onlining, it had nearly caused her audios to short circuit. That and she didn't want to alert passers by to the truth of what they were seeing. Rumours were fine but to confirm the hearsay was an entirely different matter. The Prime had a lot of enemies in the deep places of Cybertron, and to tell the world he had sparked a mechling would make the sparkling a target. Though the truth would undoubtedly have to come out sometime in the near future, it did not have to be right that astrosecond.

But something seemed to crumble in Chromia as she looked at Bumblebee. There was just something about him. Something she couldn't put her digits on.

"He is an adorable little spark though…" Chromia admitted, surrendering to her own creatorial instincts. After all, the best substitute for a sparkling or youngling barring their actual creators was another bot who had already been a creator. They were already in tune to the ways of caring for a child.

"You don't have to tell me that Chromia. I can't remember how long I've been waiting for this. It just feels so…" Elita trailed off, unable to find the right word to describe her feelings.

"Right" Chromia finished.

Elita looked to her friend and personal bodyguard. She remembered seeing Chromia raise both her children and Elita becoming consumed in Chromia's world. But she'd always been on the outside of it, standing on the edge, never really being able to understand what it meant to be a family, just always longing for what Chromia and Ironhide had. It wasn't until now that she really understood what being a creator meant. I didn't make her feel whole or complete. Optimus had done that when they bonded. This was different and Chromia understood that because she'd been their. Being a creator did just feel, right.

"Yes, exactly", Elita thanked. She looked down at her recharging little yellow mechling, acutely aware of Chromia watching her from the corner of her optic. Then she finally bucked up the courage to ask her the one question she had wanted to ask her all since that morning.

"Chromia, what do you _really_ think of me and Optimus having a sparkling?" Elita asked uncertainly. She was afraid of what her friend would say. She would was afraid Chromia would disapprove. Everybody always congratulated on the surface, it was just common place, but few people ever said what they really thought.

Chromia frowned at Elita.

"What do you mean?" Chromia asked puzzled.

"I mean do you think it's was a good idea? If we had told you we were planning a sparkling before hand, would you have questioned us, or disapproved of it? Would you-" Chromia cut her off by grabbing her friends arm and turning the new creator towards her.

"Elita, I think having a sparkling is a wonderful idea. Do you really think I would have had two of my own if I didn't? Besides, remember how everyone reacted when me and Ironhide told everybody we were going to try for our first sparkling. _Everyone_ disapproved. _Everybody_ questioned us. And certainly nobody approved of us total interfacing. As I recall even _you_ asked me, 'are you sure about this?'" Chromia pointed out giving Elita a critical look. Elita bowed her head a little, feeling ashamed, but Chromia wasn't finished. "But then when we came to raising our second, nobody said a word. Bots are easily opinionated Elita. They didn't think that me and Ironhide could raise a spark properly, and I remember being right were you are now, wondering if I could really do this. And you can. Your young compared to me Elita and by quite some way. Optimus is a young Prime as well. You have plenty of time to learn and I promise you, becoming a creator comes as naturally as becoming bonded does. You and Optimus will make magnificent creators. And don't worry about Megatron and Ironhide and Prowl, there just concerned about yours and Optimus's safety. It's their job to keep Optimus safe the same way it's my job to keep you safe. And when you two go off total interfacing without a word, you can't blame them for being a little cautious".

Elita nodded. Chromia's words reassuring her. Again she looked down at her sparkling, stroking his little helm as he shifted in his recharge, binding his hands onto her chest plating more securely.

"Now then, seen as we have a joor or so to kill, why don't we take Bumblebee down to the rec-room and introduce the younglings to him. Youngling lessons only finished eight breems ago and I think I'm right in assuming Smokescreen has been abandoned by Blades after he threw Cliffjumper into a wall. He's in the brig until he cools down." Chromia said matter-of-factly.

"Hmm unsurprising. That mech has seen to much street fighting for his own good. From what I've heard from First Aid, Smokescreen is worried Blades is giving the younglings a bad impression. But enough of that, the sooner those four terrors meet Bumblebee the better" Elita agreed as Chromia nodded. They were just about to turn around and start heading back in the direction of the rec-room, when a voice heckled them from behind.

"Excuse me Elita, but there have been some reports going round on the com lines that…" the voice trailed off at seeing the recharging Bumblebee in Elita's arms. The femme herself couldn't help but smile. She had been wishing she would run into this mech since they had left med bay earlier that orn.

"Oh, hello Wheeljack, can I help you?" Elita asked evenly as if nothing was wrong or unusual, her tone that of the political, military Prime Consort that she was.

Wheeljack did not reply. He did nothing but stare at the tiny frame Elita held. His mouth plates opened to say something but they shut again. He opened his mouth plates again trying to force his vocal processor to form sound but he couldn't, so his mouth plates closed once more. He did this a couple more times before Chromia intervened.

"Wheeljack, are you alright?" she asked, apprehensive about the scientists odd behaviour. Perhaps one of his latest inventive explosions had fried some circuitry, or broken his neural connectors. Or perhaps from the frozen frame and jerking mouth plates, maybe his whole processor had been damaged. Or maybe this was an imposter. Though unlikely, there was a part of Chromia that had been itching for real combat fight. The relative planetary peace had proved there was little hard core conflict to be had, and quite frankly Chromia was getting a little bored. Then again Ironhide was a lot bored. He was certain to have laid well into Optimus earlier, simply because he had a punch bag that could, although probably wouldn't, fight back.

Wheeljack unwittingly looked away from the sparkling and to Chromia. He noticed her hand lay against the silver sheath of her favourite energon dagger. She had taken it from a mech she had killed during her very first war zone battle. A crudely arched black blade formed of avyon. A very rare metal ore found only in the deepest Cybertronian mines. It was nearly impossible to destroy and even harder to craft into usable forms such as weaponry. Rumour had it that Optimus had received a sword, and Megatron a shield out of the precious metal upon their induction as Prime and Lord Protector, though none of that was confirmed. But it certainly was confirmed that if any mech or femme, minbot or microbot ever laid optics on the actual dagger, save for Ironhide and Chromia herself that bot would end up very dead, very quickly.

That knowledge zipped though Wheeljack's CPU in under an astrosecond, and was enough to snap the mech out of his reverie.

"I, uh…I'm fine, Chromia", he managed, still struggling to use his vocal processer. He turned to Elita who gave him a humoured but knowing smile, proving to Wheeljack that his suspicions were correct as well as the so called reports on the com lines.

Wheeljack seemed to muster all the strength he could to address Elita. He fisted his hands, and though a thin veil of barely contained anger, he gritted out between clenched denta in an all too sweet and controlled voice, "Would you excuse me?"

Without waiting for a reply Wheeljack was gone, leaving Chromia to stare after him and Elita to chuckle quietly at the bot that was going to hammer Ratchet with his own wrenches for a change.

"What just happened?" Chromia questioned critically, her hand still poised over her dagger.

_~: Elita? :~ _

_~: Yes Optimus: ~_

_~: Where are you? : ~_ his regal voice sounding concerned.

_~: On the way to the rec-room with Chromia to introduce Bumblebee to the younglings. Why? : ~_ though she already knew the answer.

_~: Ratchet had just finished banging out the dents that Megatron and Ironhide gave me, when he suddenly dropped everything and went and…well, went and hid in his office hissing 'Elita told him'. Do you want you enlighten me: ~_ Optimus quizzed, letting his unease flow though their bond.

Elita pushed it away and replaced it with a sense of fulfilment.

_~: Let's just say Ratchet's problem just happened: ~ _Elita replied as understanding marred with pleased jesting laced their bond.

_~: Much as I love you Elita, you can be so cruel sometimes: ~_ Optimus hummed in approval of her actions.

_~: And as much as you hate to admit it, that's why you bonded with me: ~_ she taunted back.

_~: Hm…indeed: ~_ Elita smiled at her bonded's apprehension.

_~: Who has been seeing to your duties? : ~_ she inquired.

_~: Prowl. Jazz has been helping him, but they are nearly finished from what they reported. I assume they will be freed within a few breems: ~_ he answered, slight loathing at their good fortune in his tone. For him the duties were never over. Elita didn't miss it his aggravation.

_~: And when will you be freed? : ~_ she asked wonderingly.

_~: With Ratchets departure, I believe I just have been. Megatron went off almost as soon as he felt he had drummed the message that I was never to create another sparkling without his permission and vorns of prior notice first: ~_ Elita could help but feel angry at that. Who was the rest of the world to dictate their lives; to dictate Bumblebee's? But she stopped that line of thinking as she realized it was another creatorial instinct coming through; to protect the family. She knew Optimus had felt her emotions but he had the grace to ignore it. _~: Ironhide is with me. He's not letting me out of his sight: ~_

_~: Does he ever? : ~_ Elita teased her mate, who hit back by huffing and pushing well disguised annoyance along their bond.

Elita always felt Chromia was watching her every move, but Chromia's mate was very… scrutinizing. And those weren't her words, they were Chromia's. She knew how her mate was about protecting the things that he was charged to defend. He had been very… stringent about letting anyone other than himself and his mate look after either one of their young ones, until they gained their adult frames and he deemed them able to sufficiently look after themselves. He was the same with Chromia. It didn't matter if Primus himself was personally seeing to her wellbeing; Ironhide was regularly reaching out to her via their bond to make sure she was okay. Or at least that's what Chromia had told her. Chromia just humoured him. Unless she was angry of course, then she just kicked his aft to the other side of Cybertron. And Ironhide kicked hers right back. The rest of Crystal City had long since accepted the fact that when Ironhide and Chromia went to work out the kinks in their relationship, it meant literally beating them out with whatever weapon they laid their hands on first. And every other occupant of the city, be it a simple field soldier or the great Prime himself, had the good sense to stay out of their way. But such were Ironhide and Chromia. They were ranked Autobot soldiers and the personal protectors of the Prime and Prime's Consort. And that left Optimus and Elita almost always at the leniency of their ever watchful bodyguards.

_~: Fair point, dear spark. And seen as I have nothing to do for the rest of the orn, I will meet you in the rec-room. I have disliked being separated from you and Bumblebee today. You two are all I've been thinking about: ~_ Optimus admitted openly.

_~: Oh Optimus… don't worry, you haven't missed a thing. Other than Bumblebee throwing a tantrum at being rebooted so we could give him some energon, he's done nothing but recharge. I'm starting to think this whole Creator thing is going to be easier than bots make it out to be: ~_ she spoke light-heartedly. If only that was going to be true. Bumblebee's already established inquisitive nature and his screaming abilities, were going to be a true test of both Elita's loving nature and Optimus's near infinite patience.

Optimus filled her with the longing he held to be reunited with his family.

_~: I– : ~_ Optimus stopped suddenly.

_~: Optimus, what's wrong? : ~_ Elita asked tensing, hugging Bumblebee closer to her as her step quickened slightly.

_~: …Ratchet's problem just went into the med bay as we came out. Unfortunately, it would be frowned upon for me to find pleasure in this particular lover spat. I'll be with you soon: ~_ were Optimus's humouring words before the connection was separated.

Elita relaxed, freeing Bumblebee to unconsciously rub his head against her chest. Elita's spark fluttered a little at the notion. She hadn't been aware how strong the bond with her creation was. She understood now, why Optimus had been so uncomfortable about being away from them, even at such a short distance and for a relatively small amount of time.

Her attention was then drawn to Chromia again as she realized she hadn't answered her guard's question; but apparently she didn't have to.

"Ironhide just told me what happened" and the two femmes walked off towards the rec-room, quietly amused at the resident CMO's misfortune.

oOo

"Ratchet! You lied to me!" Wheeljack yelled breaking into Ratchets office with all the force of great _Artimis 1_ battleship.

Ratchet sat at his desk with all his carefully combed composure and calmness, spreading though his bond to Wheeljack. Wheeljack however, was not going to allow Ratchet to manipulate him.

_~: No: ~_ Wheeljack spat, sliding a firm block between their bond. Though Ratchet didn't show it, it hurt him for Wheeljack to do that. He didn't like not being granted access to his bonded.

"You lied to me!" Wheeljack repeated again, but this time with more force, just for good measure. He let Ratchet do as he pleased most of the time. He made the decisions and Wheeljack let him, as long as he passed his conclusions past Wheeljack first. That way there were always on the same wavelength. But one thing he didn't accept from Ratchet was his mate lying to him.

"I prefer to call it twisting the truth to make it a more usable bit of information" Ratchet replied calmly, standing up and coming over to Wheeljack and placing his hand on his mate own. Wheeljack however swiftly pulled his hand away and gave Ratchet a determined shove backwards.

"And I call it lying. You told me the frame was for a noble!" Wheeljack half shrieked half snarled at his annoyingly calm mate, waving his digits at the medic in a some what threatening manner.

"I think Optimus and Elita fall into the category of a noble don't you?" Ratchet countered, moving back towards Wheeljack and subtly probing at the block between their bond. Wheeljack felt it and re-enforced the block. Ratchet was not allowed to get off that easily.

"No. I think Optimus and Elita fall into the category of Prime and Prime's Consort" the contradiction was hard and sarcastic. He grabbed a scanner of some sort from a cabinet top beside him, and clouted his mate hard on the upper left arm panels with it. Ratchet set his lower jaw joints in and released a small gust of air of his vents but didn't retaliate.

Ratchet just looked at Wheeljack.

_~: Don't do that: ~_ Wheeljack sent though their bond in a quick swift movement of removing the block, and then firmly putting it back again before Ratchet could reply or send soothing emotions though.

But Ratchet simply continued to look at Wheeljack with those warm optics.

_~: I said don't! : ~_ Wheeljack sent, angered, using the same open block, shut block method as before and waving the scanner at his mate in warning.

Yet still Ratchet continued to look at his glaring mate. It was a look he had perfected and used only for him.

_~: Frag you…: ~_ and Wheeljack's conviction faded and the block was, albeit reluctantly, removed

Ratchet gave a very rare and quite small smile as he moved to embrace his mate. Wheeljack made no move to stop him, but likewise made no move to embrace him back. He still wanted to be angry. But when Ratchet looked at him that way, he just… couldn't. As Ratchets arms came around his slightly smaller frame, he relaxed into the medics hold, feelings of affection marred with guilt flowing into his processor.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth. I couldn't. Can you forgive me?" Ratchet leaned down and whispered into Wheeljack's audio receptor, sending tenderness though their bond.

Wheeljack felt himself grasping at the ends of his dissipating anger in a futile attempt to hold onto the reason that had brought him here. He sighed at lent his head against his mate neck plating. Ratchet moved his hands up the back Wheeljack's frame, before pushing a digit under the inventors spinal protection armour. Wheeljack felt himself shudder.

_~: We have to get the twins: ~_ Wheeljack reminded as Ratchet tangled his expert digits inside one of his gyros.

_~: A couple of breems won't do them or Smokescreen any harm: ~_ Ratchet replied, wanting to firmly make sure Wheeljack had forgiven him.

_~: Have you met our younglings: ~_ Wheeljack retorted.

_~: As I recall it was you who insisted on adopting them: ~_ Ratchet reminded, pushing Wheeljack up against the office door, thanking Primus he had told First Aid to leave early.

_~: You have raised plenty and I hadn't raised any. Besides you were smitten with them the first moment you saw them. They are __the twins__ after all: ~_ the scientist/inventor mocked.

_~: That is neither here nor there: ~_ Ratchet said, pushing his mate back against the door again as he tried to break free. Wheeljack huffed but when Ratchet sent out his passion, Wheeljack gave in and felt his own lust creep into his processor and bewitch his hands into moving for his interfacing cable.

_~: This does not get you off the hook: ~_ Wheeljack stated, but there was no conviction. They both knew Ratchet was off the hook.

oOo

_(Present time)_

"Jazz! Jazz! Look Jazz! Look! Come see what Elita bought Jazz! Come see!" a small black and white youngling, mirroring Prowls own paint job yelled as he darted across the rec-room and jumped on special ops commanders' leg.

Optimus, Elita, Chromia, Ironhide, Smokescreen, Ratchet, Wheeljack and apparently all of the other countless bots in the rec-room, didn't miss the way Jazz bent awkwardly down to scruff his youngling, and nor did they miss the way he moved forward with a stiff, pained motion. One could have been mistaken for thinking that every tension wire in the small mechs frame had been pulled, and every major joint motor had had all energon connecters severed.

Jazz pulled the youngling into his arms, brushing his digits lovingly over his helm, before promptly popping him into Prowls arms without a word, as the larger mech followed his smaller counterpart though the rec-room door. If the other bots gathered had been unsettled by Jazz's odd behaviour, then they were certainly unsettled by the smug look on Prowls faceplates. It was unnerving to see someone so indifferent look like that.

The youngling stared after the rigid form of his Creator, dumbfounded. Jazz was always happy to indulge his antics. Jazz never just handed him to Prowl without saying anything. It made the youngling worry. He could feel his Creator in pain. The youngling turned himself to face his other Creator.

"Prowl…?" the larger mech looked down to see the fretting optics of his recently upgraded sparkling to youngling. "What wrong with Jazz? …Does he have a virus?" the little bot asked, sounding genuinely concerned, leaning back round to stare after his Creator again, as Jazz slowly and uncertainly sat down in a chair next to Chromia.

Prowl ran caring hand over the younglings helm.

"No, he doesn't have a virus Cade, he's just a little sore is all", Prowl reasoned, reassuring his troubled youngling.

"Why?" Barricade wondered innocently. Prowl was unsure of how to answer at first, but thinking back to earlier breems, he seemed to be able to concoct a response.

"Cade, you know how sometimes Ironhide and Chromia go and sort out their relationship –"

"They go fight each other" Barricade filled in flawlessly, optics still expectant.

"Yes –"

"Did you go and fight Jazz!" the youngling screeched, jumping to conclusions, his CPU seemingly vorns ahead of his vocal processor. He looked panicked, shocked and excited all at the same time. Prowl laid a digit quickly against Barricade's mouth plates at seeing a recharging Bumblebee stir suddenly against Optimus chassis, when Barricade had shouted.

"No Cade, we didn't fight. Me and Jazz have_ our own ways_ of sorting things out. And we _did_ sort things out so don't worry", Prowl couldn't help but smile smugly again even if it did go against the assessments of his battle computer.

_~: You're a single cylindered glitch, ya know dat: ~_ Jazz sent to Prowl. Everyone could hear him and they were all drawing the same conclusion. They were all sharing looks, and trying to hide sniggers and smiles. They were unsuccessful. Pit, even the three older younglings could tell what was going on. Only Barricade and Bumblebee remained blissfully unaware of the implications of what Prowl was saying. He caught the look on Ironhide face as he clearly shared words with Chromia via their bond. She smirked back at her mate and then transferred that smirk to Jazz, who did nothing but scowl back.

_~: I know: ~_ was the stoic reply.

Prowl set Barricade on the floor again and he shot off towards the other younglings. The twins were looking at Jazz. The bright red one was looking at the mech as if someone had just handed him Cybertron's biggest ever energon treat. The mischievous look that crossed Sideswipes faceplates, promised that anarchy was soon to befit poor Jazz within the next few orns.

The golden one stood next to his twin, but he on the other hand just looked at Jazz hard, mixing a frown and glare to create his signature look. Mind you, that was almost all Sunstreaker ever did.

And behind then, perched in Smokescreen's lap, was the mech's younger brother, Bluestreak. He was the eldest of the younglings. The mainly grey little spark was the quietest one of the four, now five, and was the easiest to look after. He didn't really play rough and he was always attentive in lessons. He was rarely fussy and generally easy going. He hadn't always been though, Prowl reminded himself. He used to be a very lively and out going youngling, but that had changed when his creators had been offlined in an alt form pile up eight vorns ago, when large amounts of leaking energon had ignited and exploded. His creators had been in stasis lock. It was a horrible and slow way to die, and Bluestreak like Smokescreen, had been able to feel their pain as they returned to the matrix.

Bluestreak was improving, but it would be a long road for him. Smokescreen had handled it much better being well established in his adult form, and had of course adopted his little brother to become his official caretaker.

Prowl took up the other chair next to his mate.

Chromia looked at him and then Jazz, who was still scowling. Aware of all the audio receptors that were honing in, Chromia asked the question they all itching to raise.

"So Jazz, what happened to you. You're looking a little worse for wear?" Chromia inquired with fake concern to her voice.

Jazz rolled his faceplates, irritated.

"Ma mate 'appened ta me. Contrary ta pop'lar belief 'e can be quite… electrifying when 'e wants ta be", Jazz finished, deadpanned.

There were smiles all round. That was until Barricade jumped to another wrong conclusion.

"You electrified him!" Barricade squealed at Prowl, even louder and higher pitched than before.

"No Cade, I didn't –"

"Aaaaaahhhhh" a piercing scream escaped Bumblebee's vocal processor. The tiny little dash of yellow had had enough. That was the third time that orn he had been rebooted against his own will. Firstly to force him to drink fuel, which admittedly he did like, but it didn't mean he wanted to sacrifice recharge for it. Secondly because a red youngling had poked him square between the optics, and it had hurt him. Even when the medic that he liked had come over to tell him off, it didn't make the pain go away. And after he had finally managed to get back into recharge, a few breems later, someone was trying to short circuit his audios.

Why didn't they understand that all he wanted to do was be with his creators and recharge? He was tired. He just wanted to recharge. And this time he was going to make certain that the message stuck.

Bumblebee wailed as loudly as he could, clear energon tears rolling down his faceplates, staining them as they did. He coiled his hands around the chest panels of his mech creator, as he felt the brilliant spark of that mech reaching out to send soothing signals to him. He liked the feeling, but when he managed to see though the haze in his optics, he only cried more. There was such a bright light, and there were so many bots everywhere, and they were all looking at him. He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. Even that presence in his spark that was always present around his mech creator, did little to calm his tired nerve connectors.

"I think he might have had enough for one orn" Elita spoke to Optimus, placing a digit along the sparklings back.

"I agree, perhaps we should retire to our quarters for the night", Optimus suggested, handing Bumblebee to Elita.

"That I think is something we should all do", it was Ratchet that spoke. "We've all had a trying orn, in one form or another", he glanced at Jazz knowing most likely he was going to end up coming to the med bay at some point the following orn. "Some rest will do us all good", he instructed, scuffing Sunstreaker who was at this point glaring at a piece of a puzzle Smokescreen had given him to do. Wheeljack did the same to a trying to run off Sideswipe.

"But –" the twins coursed, one voice whining, the other snapping.

"And no buts", Wheeljack added, as the two attempted to contradict their caretakers.

"I'd have to agree. Come on Jazz, get up. Cade still isn't used to not being able to recharge as and when he wants, he needs some energon and a rest", Prowl said, getting to his feet and snatching up his own younglings scruff bar, as Barricade made his own attempt to flee.

"_I_ need sum energon an rest, never mind Barricade" Jazz mumbled, gears groaning as he got up and had Barricade set down in his arms.

Smokescreen stood also but instead of holding Bluestreak, he propped him up on the floor. Unlike the other caretakers, he trusted his youngling enough not to have a crack at the great escape, like the twins had endeavoured on a fair few occasions. If it had not been Ratchet and Wheeljack caring for them, he was absolutely certain they would have succeeded by now.

"This is the part I like about not having a child to look after", Ironhide rumbled, "you don't have to retire early because they need recharge", Chromia gave him a sly look.

Since Optimus and Elita had, well, had obviously had some serious interfacing today, clearly so had Prowl and Jazz, and by the way Ratchet and Wheeljack had come to pick up the twins, one rather late and two without argument, it was good to assume they had reconciled by getting some as well. It only seemed fair that they join in on the day of interfacing madness.

Ironhide seemed most pleased with the line of thought Chromia was taking. Not that it showed on the outside though.

As nearly all parties got ready to leave though, Megatron came though the rec-room door and he did not look happy.

"Sit" he ordered. Confused they sat; much to the protest of Jazz and the increasing subdued sobbing of an unhappy but very tired Bumblebee.

Megatron strode over to one of the media screen mounted on the wall. Oddly they had all been turned off. It may have been getting late but there was still a fair few bots about in the rec-room. Megatron turned it on and then proceeded to turn on every single one in the entire rec-room.

And what came on the screen shocked them. It was a picture of Optimus and Elita, words bolded on the bottom, with the voice over repeating the words.

'**Prime and Consort become Creators' **

Megatron then began to flick though the channels but the picture never changed.

"It's on every channel. It doesn't matter whether you tune into Soundwave or Blaster, it's the same result", Megatron protested. "And it's global", he announced.

The Lord Protector didn't know how word had gotten out or the confirmation of the rumours. But this was bad. He had been in the process of setting up new security measures to allow for the sparkling when he had been alerted to this. He didn't know how this would affect the protection of Prime, Elita and Bumblebee. How easily could someone slip under the radar before new security was up and running? How much had already leaked out? How much did the media know? How much did the public know? How much did Prime's enemies know? He didn't know.

And neither did Prowl. But Prowl's battle computer was drawing up a raft of statistics and possible strategies abductors might use. And the possibilities were vast.

Elita's hold on her sniffling mechling strengthened. She didn't want to admit but she had always known. Both she and Optimus had always it would happen from the moment word got out. They had always known…

…that Bumblebee would become a target.

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><p><em>And that's chapter two. Please review.<em>

_I am focusing on other character relationships as well as they will be important for later in the story. _

_Chapter song __**"Electricity"**__ by __**Elton John**_


	3. Chapter 3: No Prisoners, Only Trophies

_Hello everyone. _

_Well this chapter is a bit off the first and second but by the end of the chapter you'll see why it was needed. Don't worry though; the next chapter will see us back with our favourite Creators and Sparkling. But for now bear with me. This chapter is essential to the storyline, and by the last line all will become clear. Please read and review. Honest criticism is always appreciated, but helpful pointers are nice as well. _

_Thank you to __**pgsmrocks**__ for your favourite story add._

_Thank you to __**Risuna-Phenix **__for your Author alert add._

_Thank you to __**pgsmrock**__s,__** Risuna-Phenix, BuckeyeBelle **__for your story alert adds._

_Thanks to the reviewers as well _

* * *

><p><em><strong>In Paradise<strong>_

_Chapter Three: No Prisoners, Only Trophies_

"_How hated is by far the longest pleasure;_

_Men love in haste, but detest at leisure"_

_- Lord Byron_

Kaon.

A city built under the surface of Cybertron. It was a large… Pit, were the tallest skyscrapers barely reached the surface of the planet.

It was well known for the barbaric nature of the bots that lived there, and for the notorious Kaon Gladiatorial Rings that lay deep in the lowest levels of the city. If one became curious as to what the Pit was actually like, the Kaon Gladiatorial Rings were the closest thing that Cybertron had to offer.

And if by some cruel twist of fate, one found the elusive residence of the most brutal Cybertronians in existence, death would soon follow. Whether it be your own or ones of the Gladiators that called the place, 'home'. They were bots that fought for pleasure. For their own pleasure. For the pleasure of the crowds and for the pleasure of the countless Cybertronians across the planet who bought the codes to access the fighting over the private signals on their media screens.

Anyone could buy those codes.

You didn't have to be in Kaon, or of Kaon origin to watch the matches. The truth was that all across Cybertron, thousands of the two billions bots on the planet, tuned in to watch mech after mech and femme after femme, fight until they could fight no more; until they had lost too much energon or too many limbs to battle forward, and then they were forced to concede.

But most of these day-to-day matches didn't end in the loser offlining. But of course 'accidents' did happen.

That was mainly reserved for the biggest money spinner of all, the death matches. Only the most vicious and violent of the Gladiators were chosen to participate in the infamous battles to the death. A death row Gladiator was a respected Gladiator, a rich Gladiator and one of the most sadistic beings that Primus ever created. They represented what being merciless really meant. To extinguish another's spark, to feel their life-force in their bare hands and then to destroy it for _entertainment_?

They were not bots to be crossed.

But there was little the likes of Optimus Prime could do. He could restrict their movements, he could push up credit tax, and sometimes he could force certain bots involved in the world into submission, but he could not destroy the beating life force of the lower levels. After all, the gladiatorial rings were not illegal. They were a business (of sorts) that conformed to _all_ the rules. There was little desire to give the Prime a reason to shut it down. And unless the laws were broken or rioting broke out, Prime couldn't send his Guard or Autobot military forces into the underground world.

And one bot in particular relished that fact.

He ran the show. The Gladiators worked for him, they _belonged_ to him. The Kaon Gladiatorial Rings were his and his alone. They made him rich. He was the Master.

He sat in his office signing off datapads to the ever constant sound of clashing metal and brash shouting as his Gladiators sparred with each other. What they were doing up this late was anyone's guess. His long clawed digits scratched the screen as his focused turned back to the matter at hand. Violet optics glared at the glyphs on the screen. He banged his hand hard against his desk.

He had the critic's reports from the death match the orn before showing on his datapad. The favourite had won. His favourite. A femme by the name of Tailblade. She was a feisty little violent femme, who used her small stature and her artistic killing methods to win the crowds. She was one of the most popular Gladiators he had at his disposal. Ratings had gone though the roof. He had personally scouted out the best Gladiator he could get his hands on. He had settled on semi-professional wrestler from Iacon to be her opponent; another well known femme by the name of Stealwing. He never set his own Gladiators against each other in the death matches; they were too valuable. But it was needless to say that the public had gone crazy at hearing who was to be talking part in the next death match. It had been quite some time since he had made that many credits from one match. With an international audience of 2.6 million, he wasn't complaining.

But the cheek of this one critic! Saying the death matches with Tailblade were becoming predictable and lacking. That for a death match with her to become entertaining again, something new was needed to 'inject a bit of high grade spirit' into the fighting. It made his energon boil, but not because of what the critic was staying, oh no, he cared little for what they thought; as long as he got his money it didn't matter what the critics thought, or which Gladiator got destroyed in the process. What angered him was that the critic was right. His business was ruled by the public. To keep their interest he needed to start spicing up Tailblade's matches. He had already removed her from the daily match roster, and added her to the full time death row Gladiator listings in a bid to prolong the public's interest in her. Yet the truth was that the public would soon begin to tire of her killing style. But then again, she was loved. He couldn't just replace Tailblade, or sell her to another company. He was going to need to make her next match incredible. He needed to do something to instil a lasting memory of his femme into the public's processors. But the question was how?

But he didn't have time for that matter now. He put that datapad down and picked up another that he had been reading and re-reading all day. The Rings were due for their vornly inspection by the Autobot militia. Any and all fighting establishments had to be approved by the government. He hated that. The slaggin Pit-fragged Prime was always sticking his nose plates in the business of people who did things he didn't like.

He _hated_ Optimus Prime. He despised the Primus forsaken mech with his entire spark, frame and processor. It brought him satisfaction, knowing something he was doing was directly getting under the Primes armour plating.

Optimus Prime had caused the death of his beloved creators. The Great Kaon Uprising was _his fault_. It was one of his Autobots that offlined one of his mech creators, and at feeling the loss of his other half during the heat of battle, spurred his other mech creator to plough his own energon dagger into his own head.

In the aftermath of the battle, feeling somewhere, one of his creators was still alive, he trudged though the countless corpses in the process of being broken down for parts, to find his creator. It took him five orns but eventually he found him. But by then it was too late. The damage he had done to himself was irreparable. The damage the Autobot military had done was extensive. However, his spark though, was still pumping strong. Nothing had been wrong with the spark casing, the spark pump, and for the most part, his primary energon line had suffered less damage than what it had appeared to have at first glance. There was very little energon left in his tanks, but he was still very much alive.

"I promise I will bring you justice", he spoke quietly to his creator. He got no response.

He had only been a youngling at the time. He had seen death only once before the Uprising. His creators had insisted that as a Kaon bot, he should know what it meant to be extinguished. That memory had scarred him, but his creators had been right to do it. It took a long time for the youngling to get over the horror of it, but his creators had always been there, helping him. They had been cruel to be kind. He was glad his creators had instilled death into his essential programming. It had served him well.

But when the Autobot forces that were trailing though the wreckage came upon them a half orn after he had found his creator, that so-called killer instinct his creators had tried to implant into him fled, and was replaced by one of fear.

And he had been right to be fearful.

"Ironhide, what should we do about this?" a quite angular, fierce looking femme inquired, gesturing towards the slowly dying creator, and the youngling who was curled up over his spark.

The giant form of the one named Ironhide moved closer, looking hard straight into the violet optics of the terrified youngling. The large mech grunted, moving closer to the femme above him.

"That ones not gonna make it" he grumbled, indicating with his head at the mech creator. "His memory chip is blown out, his processor is fragged and there are only about a half dozen neural connectors still operational. He's a lost cause. Better to end him than let him suffer", Ironhide finished, coming with the femme to hover over the dying mech.

"Agreed, but what of the youngling? He's physically fine, if not a little traumatized. The head wound on the mech is clearly self-inflicted and these Kaon bots don't suicide easily. They know enough of fighting to properly offline themselves if that was their true intension. This one acted irrationally, and considering we don't allow bots from these levels to have Allspark sparklings, I think it's best to assume that he is a bonded mech and that", she pointed to the youngling, "is a total interface youngling. He had acted out of the loss and pain of losing his bonded, and the youngling sought out the only source of creatorial comfort it could find. Killing the mech would orphan him", she concluded.

The two Autobots stood there for a little while, speaking words without talking out loud like he'd seen his creators do. They soon looked back to the youngling, their faceplates set, staring at him. He clung tighter to his creator, fisting his small hands around the blackened armour plating. The femme looked down at the child sympathetically. This wasn't the first time she'd done this.

"Chromia, get him", Ironhide stated, cannons rolling on his arms, buzzing as they charged and took aim at the spot were the youngling lay. The youngling's optics widened in fear and realization. No, he would not let them take his creator from him. He tightened his grip further, and felt his creators spark almost touching his own though his mangled chassis.

Chromia bent down and with gentle ease, she pulled the youngling off his creator. He shrieked and cried out, hands frantically grasping for his mech. The femme took hold of his scruff bar and turned away, shielding the frantic youngling from the sight of what was to come.

Ironhide ended the mech as soon as got the affirmative from Chromia. It was a mercy killing. The mech was beyond help and it would have been a painful death to endure in stasis lock. The night was setting in and the underground lights of Kaon were fading. The explosion burst brightly against the encroaching darkness. The youngling didn't see it but he could feel the heat of it, along with the pain that flooded his spark as yet another piece of him was so cruelly torn away.

He wailed and started kneeing, thrashing out with his small arms and legs. Chromia had a firm hold on him and held him steadily against her shoulder as he lashed out, hitting her with small fists. He did no damage to her. Her armour was too thick and too strong. He didn't make one scratch.

They began walking away with Chromia doing her best to offer what comfort she could to the child. It wasn't long before the youngling stopped trashing. He simply didn't have the energy, but he did continue to keen quietly into the femmes shoulder plating that he had turned to clutching in his despair, burying his face as he did.

The walk back took several joors as they stopped now and again to dismantle parts, mainly weapons, from sparkless frames before sub-spacing them and moving on. But the majority of journey had been lost on the youngling. It seemed at some point between the lack of energon, the intense pain in his spark and the soft touch of the femme, he had been lulled into recharge.

He only awakened at feeling an odd presence in the agony surrounding his spark. It was trying to calm his nerves, but it was too far away to properly subdue his fears. Opening his optics he found himself still in the femmes grasp. He shuttered his optics a few times, confused, before taking in stock of his surroundings.

He was in a med bay of sorts. Autobot insignias were strung up on the walls. Medics were tending to the wounded, making basics field repairs until the bots could be properly seen to. Other bots were under going more series damage repairs, assistants flying around, retrieving parts from an increasingly large pile in the process of being sorted though, to take back to the medics. The stack of medical grade energon was quickly going down, along with supplies of painkillers, anaesthetics and other drugs as more bots poured in with minor injuries. Guards bearing missile launchers and shoulder mounted seeker units watched over the entrance. It seemed to be a secure sector, but the youngling couldn't have felt more afraid or more alone.

He noticed looking down that Chromia was sat on a berth, whilst a bright yellow medic examined the circuitry under her lower left leg panel; the armour that had been shielding it, lying in disregard at his feet. He sub-spaced a particularly ominous looking medical tool, consisting of a variety of wrenches, soldering irons, mini welders and scalpels. And while the sight of it sent ice though the younglings spark, the femme didn't even shutter an optic.

"Honestly Ratchet shouldn't you be tending to one of the more seriously injured mechs", she asked sullenly, "I mean you're the CMO and there's nothing even wrong with me. It's just Ironhide being too slaggin overprotective", she complained. What the youngling didn't know, was that Optimus had ordered her to the med bay after Ironhide had instructed him to when she wouldn't go by her own will. She didn't blame Optimus. He was juggling a battle field success that would ensure peace in Kaon for some time with political duties, general Prime duties, co-ordinating with his brother and dealing to the needs of his unhappy femme, who to say the least had not been best pleased at being forced by her bonded to stay out of the fighting. With all that on his regal shoulders, he needed his resident weapons specialist and right hand mech fully focused on the task at hand. And Optimus knew that that would not become a reality, until he ordered Chromia to the med bay. So that was exactly what he had done.

"No Chromia, I should be looking at you. I may well be the CMO and at times I, like yourself, often have a desire to grab hold of your Ironhide's cranial and bang it into the nearest wall. But as you said, Ironhide is too overprotective. If I didn't tend to you I might as well go and stand next to one of the hollow frames in the firing range for all the good it would do" he justified. He never looked up, so he never saw the youngling staring at him, he just continued to fiddle with the medical tool. "And besides there _is_ something wrong with you", he added, just to put Chromia in her place. While she was in the med bay she _would_ conform to his rules. Chromia huffed.

The medic began to work and Chromia winced a little, grinding her denta. But her sudden sharp movement had caused the youngling to fully jump. She turned to look at him, hard optics softening just a little. In her annoyance at Ironhide and her irritation at Ratchet, she hadn't noticed the youngling rebooting. The hand she had one his back made to make a rubbing motion, but the youngling tensed up, wires straining and Chromia hesitated.

"It's alright, your safe here. No one is going to hurt you", she said gently. She had said this to many younglings and sparklings after they had been forced to destroy their creators or caretakers. She had no qualms about killing. It was a fact of life. Ultimately, they were all dead bots. But she was also femme. It was in her programming to protect children. She did not like it when they were caught in the crossfire, but often that was unavoidable. At her words most younglings starting keening again, and the ones that didn't usually chose to curl back into her frame and seek what comfort they could while it was offered. Of course, none of them trusted her. But they were swayed to her only because there was nobody else. Naturally reactions varied, but never had she expected the reaction she got from this youngling.

He stared at her, remembering everything that she had done. Everything that she and the mech had done. They had taken the last little piece of hope he had. They had _killed_ him. His creator couldn't even fight back. He was defenceless, trapped in stasis lock, and they killed him without showing the slightest shred of mercy. Anger filled the youngling. He couldn't believe she had just said to him, _to him,_ of all bots, that no one was going to hurt him. Did she think he was stupid? In that moment all he wanted was the escape the pain in his spark, and get as far away from this femme as he could. He started to struggle in her strong hands, but to no avail.

"Let me go!" he hissed, clawing at her shoulder in a bid for his freedom. But when her grip on him only tightened, he in true Kaon bot fashion, lifted his arm, coiled his hand into a fist and hit her as hard as he could, hammering the dead centre of her noseplate. It dented, just a little. Chromia snarled in disapproval, the youngling drawing on already frayed nerves. That shocked the youngling. He had expected _her_ to be the shocked one, not him.

"You will _not. Hit. Me_. Do you understand?" Chromia brought the youngling close to her face plates speaking optic to optic, he tone stern. Chromia scolding must have gotten though to his processor because the youngling stopped struggling instantly, optics wide and nodded his head. "Good", she added, satisfied with his answer. She lowered him onto her lap, keeping one arm around him securely.

"You sure that ones not yours Chromia", Ratchet said standing up, sub-spacing his tool. "He's got your temper and Ironhide's fight em' first and don't bother asking questions attitude", his tone and face looking deadly serious. Chromia shot him an irritated look. Ratchet merely waved it off and crouched in front of the youngling, studying him. "I'll admit I thought you were joking when you said he had violet optics", Ratchet said, picking up a scanner from next to Chromia armour on the floor.

"Yes, well as you can see, I wasn't", she chided annoyed at Ratchets comments, her free hand wandering deafly over her dented nose plate.

"Watch your tone", Ratchet rebuked. Chromia huffed again. The youngling stared at him, grim faced. He didn't trust the medic and he didn't trust the femme, and he was coming more and more concerned about the presence in his spark. It was becoming much stronger. He didn't like the way it was trying to push his anger away. It made him feel uneasy. It was too much like having one of his creators back. He didn't like it. But when the medic lined up his scanner with his optics and sent a bright flash of light through them, it didn't matter how hard the presence tried, his anger over ruled. He spewed out cuss after cuss, rubbing his aching optics. The medic and the warrior femme sat stunned, optic ridges shooting up.

It was Ratchet who recovered first. Scruffing the youngling and pulling him out of Chromia arms, he put the end of one digit atop of the child's spark, and spoke severely, grounding each word out, driving them into the young spark's processer with all the force of a hard line connection.

"You will not use such language in _my _med bay. If I here one more swear from your mouth, I will wash your glossa out with cleansing fluid and then sedate you. I have never tolerated such behaviour from the sparklings and younglings I have adopted over the vorns, and I sure as Pit won't tolerate it from _you_", each word causing the youngling to curl up a little more into the tight ball he was forming. "Understood?"

"Yessir" the youngling replied hurriedly.

"And you won't do it again?" Ratchet pressed.

"Nosir"

Ratchet stood straight, regarding the bot before handing him back to Chromia. He looked back to the scanner as if nothing had happened. His optic ridges twitched at the readings. He crouched back down again, sub-spacing a thin metal rod with a tiny white light on the very end. Ratchet made to touch the youngling's helm, but the youngling shied away. Ratchet paused with his arms mid air, casting the bot look, daring him to move away from him again. The youngling sat still, his back against the femme as the medic touched his head. He visibly tensed as the medic started shining the light in his optics. It wasn't that bright, so it didn't hurt him like the scanner had.

"Huh" Ratchet contemplated as he continued to examine the youngling.

"What?" Chromia asked curious.

"Well violet optics stopped being made hundreds of decavorns ago. They were good for seeing in the dark, but they don't filter light properly, which was why he didn't like the scanner", Ratchet indicated towards the discarded tool. "I've only ever seen two or three bots in my life with them, and they offlinned soon after of old age spark fading. I thought perhaps someone had made a unique pair for this youngling but I was wrong. You can see around the edges of the optics some quite substantial scarring that comes from transplanting a set of optics from one frame to another. It's rare to do such a thing, but these look to have been transplanted a fair few times. And judging by the way they are a little to big for this frame, its safe to say they were originally built for an adult. As well as considering how much it would cost to acquire such rare optics in such good order, I would say that someone has gone to great lengths to ensure this youngling had them. But why I cannot say", Ratchet finished.

"Cannot say what?" a rich, grand voice questioned, coming up behind them. The younglings head snapped around in recognition.

He'd heard that voice many times over his life. He had heard it nearly every orn on his media screen. But this was the first and only time he had ever heard it in person.

When the youngling saw him, the only thing he felt was contentment. He didn't feel happy, but when he looked up at the massive red and blue form of Optimus Prime, all the anger he wanted to project to the leader of the Autobots just dissipated. The presence in his spark took hold of all his malice and just cast it aside without a second thought. In one moment every single bit of malevolence he held was gone, replaced by a relaxing sensation… and he _hated_ it. He _hated_ the way that the Prime looked at him with those kind deep blue optics. He _hated_ the benevolent smile Prime gave him because it put him at ease. He shouldn't be feeling that way. _It wasn't right._ He _hated_ the fact that he liked the Prime because he had managed to numb the pain in his spark. A pain that he had slaggin created. It was _his orders_ that the mech and the femme had been following. It was because of_ him_ his creators were dead. It was _his fault_ that he was an orphan. It was _his fault_ that he didn't have a home or a family to go back to. He _would_ have his revenge of the Prime. He _would_ make that Prime feel his pain. One day, he would shatter his spark. Everything bad in his life was the _entire fault_ of Optimus Prime. It was _his fault_. It was _his fault_.

_It was his fault! _

"Master? Master, wake up Sir" someone when shaking his shoulder. He could here the whine of his own internal systems rebooting as he roughly woken from recharge. Something he did not appreciate. His hand few out and grabbed the offending mech and spun him around, twisting the mech's arm behind him and applying pressure, forcing the mech to his knees. "Sir, it's me, Wildrider! You fell into recharge at your desk again Sir. Sir-ah", the mech was cut off his rambling because he released him and the mech fell face first onto the floor.

"What have I told you about doing that Wildrider? I am an ex Gladiator myself and in the orns that I fought it was kill or be killed. There was no cushy lifestyle like the ones you lot live now. Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he sounded exasperated. Wildrider was an average sized mech with an average fighting skill. He wasn't much to look at. His frame wasn't intimidating and neither was his attitude. He was nothing special. By rights, he navy blue mech didn't make a particularly good Gladiator, but he had two qualities that had endeared him to Wildrider. Firstly, the mech was smart, like really smart. He had intelligence he never knew a bot could posses. It was what kept him alive in and out of the Rings, and it was invaluable for keeping the Autobot military at bay. He knew every loophole in the system. And second, he was loyal, intensely loyal. He did whatever the master asked him to, whenever he asked him to do it.

"I'm sorry Master, please forgive me", Wildrider apologised humbly, "But you have slept well into the orn and I felt it was best to awaken you. There are… matters that need your attention", he spoke quickly and clearly, with just an undertone of urgency. The Master became aware of shouting coming from the direction of the main arena. Wildrider made a very good personal assistant, but couldn't dissolve brawling between the Gladiators for all the credits on Cybertron.

The Master sighed. He was not in the mood to be dealing with them. If one of them killed another, then the offending mech or femme would just have to pay of the betting rates of the one who was killed. He sat back down at his desk.

"Where is my daily media chip?" he asked his subordinate, running a hand over the back of his helm, his processor still a little fuzzy from restoring and seal his worst childhood memories. He had tried to lock them away, but they plagued him constantly.

"Right here Master", he said, hurrying over and handing over the small flat black chip. "And your not going to believe what's on the front page", he said with no small amount of humour in his voice. Wildrider was well aware of his Master's hated for the Prime…and why. He had a feeling this was just the opportunity his Master had been waiting for. They Autobot militia dealt with him when they came for inspections. Prime knew nothing of the Master. The Gladiators were under strict orders to keep their mouth plates shut about the bot that pulled the strings from the shadows.

The Master looked at Wildrider suspiciously. Wildrider was one of the only bots he trusted. He knew by the look on his underlings face that whatever was on the media chip was going to please him. But very few things did that, the Master thought. Slowly, watching Wildrider, he undid the port of his arm and slotted the chip in. Almost instantly, the file came up in his CPU, and he accessed it without hesitation.

And when he did, he nearly had a full systems crash. He read the headline again and again and again.

And again. He simply couldn't comprehend the words he was reading.

'Look again' his processer told his optics. 'We are looking, it really says that' his optics replied.

'_**Optimus Prime And Elita One Become Creators To A Newly Sparked Mechling Via Total Interface'**_

Ever so slowly, the shock on his face started to disband and was replaced by a foul grin. Wildrider saw the malice in the Masters face, and stood tall, sharing his feelings.

This was what he had been waiting for. All those vorns waiting for an opportunity to take revenge on the Prime and he was offered a chance, if done properly, to truly destroy the mech. And more than that, he could devastate the Prime's treasured bonded as well. He sent a quick prayer to Primus thanking him for his good fortune.

Finally, he would see Creators avenged.

After a moment he turned to Wildrider, his optics gleaming with untold evil and a smug grin of gratification.

"You know we have been looking for a way to spice up Tailblade's next death match", he said to Wildrider, no small amount of satisfaction on his face plates. Wildrider nodded. "Well", the Master said pulling the media chip out of his arm and flourishing it slightly at Wildrider. "I think we just found our latest money spinner".

He dropped the chip back onto his desk, looking up at the door as sounds of an escalating battle threatened to break though. His violent, violet optics locked onto the glyphs that had been smoothly carved above the door; the Gladiators motto – 'No Prisoners, Only Trophies'.

And what a trophy the mechling would make…that is, if Tailblade left enough of him to make one.

* * *

><p><em>Okay so I created my own villain… well I couldn't very well use Megatron could I? He's in my story as a good guy… or is he? Oh how I love to play with readers minds. <em>

_I'm a big fan of creating sympathy for the villain and dislike against the good guys. I think it creates better conflict._

_Anyway, tell me what you think. The first half of this chapter wrote itself, but I struggled a bit with the second half. As I said in the first chapter, I have little knowledge of the G1 series so please be kind. _

_Song __**"No Prisoners, Only Trophies"**__ from the Dark Side Of The Moon Soundtrack. If you haven't seen the film, you won't understand the parallel betweens what's happening in the movie at the time the song is played, and how it sort of mirrors what happening here. It's not the best score from the movie, but it does fit with this chapter. _


	4. Chapter 4: The Only Exception

_Okay so after the last chapter I thought it was best to offer a bit of light hearted, almost fluff like work to lighten the mood of the story again, before he turn down the cold road that this story will soon be taking. _

_The first section was written ages ago as a one-shot but it was never posted. So with a bit of alteration, I managed to incorporate it here. _

_Please read and review and most importantly enjoy._

_I apologize that so much of my stories are non-dialogue. I have always struggled with writing dialogue as it always seems wooden and forced. But I'm doing my best to try and put more in._

_Thanks to __**Sassbrat**__ and __**Valkyra**__ for your story alert adds_

_Thanks to __**Ruby650**__ and __**AMYLEE PRIME**__ for your fav story adds._

_Btw, I want you to see Barricade as a good guy in this story. You'll see by the end of the story how his ties to the deceptions come into play, and perhaps not in the way you would assume. Wink. Thanks to Sinead Rivka for letting me use Barricade this way. Her story 'Things we do not tell humans' is just brilliant. I strongly recommended reading it. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>In Paradise<strong>_

_Chapter Four: The Only Exception_

"_O what a tangled web we weave,_

_When first we practice to deceive"_

_- Sir Walter Scott_

Elita curled into Optimus's frame a little more tightly at picking up the tell tale whimpers that always preceded the –

"Aaaaaahhhhh" a high pitched wail ran though the quarters that belonged to the Prime and the Primes Consort. Optimus rebooted almost instantly, just as Elita did. There was a moment of stillness between the two as they lay on their berth, listening as there audio receptors whined at picking up that wonderful, albeit Primus forsaken sound.

Optimus gripped Elita pulling her closer to him, murmuring to her, "Its alright, I'll get him", as he smiled down at his sparkmate though half-awake optics.

Elita mirrored her mate as she smiled back as him. The femme locked her gaze with her mech, pouring her soft blue optics into his deep azure ones. She spoke softly but firmly, running her hand down his chassis and resting it over his spark, "no, I'll get him. You have a long orn ahead of you tomorrow; you need recharge more than I do". Optimus looked at her briefly but quickly conceded, nodding. There had been an unyielding tone to her voice. The highly decorated, well loved, somewhat battle-worn Prime may well have been awed for his grace, and feared for his power by every other Cybertronian on Cybertron, but this femme was dangerous when provoked. And disagreeing with her _was_ classed as provoking.

Optimus was no fool when it came to his femme.

As another wail threatened to burn their audio circuitry, Optimus released Elita. The femme rolled out of his clutches but not before slipping a well practised digit under her bondeds armour plating atop of his chassis, and gently pulling on sensitive wiring connected directly to his spark case. Optimus released a low growl of anticipation as his optics darted accusingly at the rose coloured femme, who merely cast him an innocently playful look as she slipped off the berth.

She swept along the floor and over to the crib that stood in wait a little way off from the end of their berth. The crib itself was extremely well made, very strong, beautifully crafted and entirely too big for the tiny form that lay inside. That said, the little bundle of yellow wires was not yet even two vorns old. Elita knew one day he was likely to operate a frame larger than her own, but that orn wouldn't be coming for many decavorns. So for now, Elita and Optimus were more than happy to entertain the needs of there newly onlined sparkling.

Elita looked down and saw the tiny head and set of shoulder panels of the little mechling. The rest of his tiny body was lost under the pastel yellow thermal blanket that Elita, like every other sane creator and caretaker, had insisted on covering him with. There was no way she was letting her Bumblebee catch a virus because she had let his heating systems fall to sub normal levels, causing his internal firewall to weaken.

Bumblebee was keening - if possible - even more intensely than just a moment before, the blanket jerking with the harsh kicks and random lashings of arms and digits the sparkling was letting out.

Elita bent down into the crib and lifted the screeching infant into her arms; blanket an all, sending soothing and calming notions though their bond. She cooed over her child, "shushing" him as she laid him gently against her shoulder, while slipping out of the room and into the main quarters. There was no way Optimus would be able to recharge unless she put some distance between him and there crying sparkling.

Elita found a spot on the couch in the main living room that would hopefully be far enough away to let Optimus get some rest. She slipped her hand underneath the blanket that cloaked the little mech, and began rubbing soft circles into his back, sending all the love and devotion she had to her mechling though their bond. In less than a breem, the bright yellow sparkling began to choke in his keening, and though a series of stuttering clicks and shaky buzzes and chirrups, he managed to tell his femme creator of the night horror he had had.

"Oo, it's alright, little one. It's okay", Elita soothed, "No one is going to hurt you. Optimus and I are here to protect you".

Bumblebee shifted and looked at the femme with swimming baby blue optics, his vocal processor still releasing strangled sobs.

Click. Twitter. Buzz. Click. Click

She ran her digits over the back of his helm, and down over his tiny stained faceplates. Her gaze softened and she smiled lovingly as she sent out warmth though the bond.

"Of course I promise little one. You're the most important thing in the universe to me and Optimus. We'll always be there for you", Elita smiled, unable to keep a little humour from slipping into her own vocal processor. Then running her hand across his entire tiny frame, she held him tenderly and pushed her forehead into his. The sparkling cuddled her back in return.

Bumblebee did not understand all, if not most of what his creator was saying, but her tone was calm and soothing and he understood their bond perfectly. His creators would protect him. They loved him and he loved them.

He scrambled to move himself directly over Elita's spark and when he found it, he buried himself in it, pushing himself as close to that bright spark at he could get. He wound his hands out of the blanket and grabbed hold of Elita's chassis. He wasn't letting go in a hurry.

And Elita didn't mind. The little bots whimpering had all but stopped, and the only sound was the quiet clicks he made to reassure himself. This spark was light and warm. It enveloped him. He liked that; it made him feel safe. Elita stroked the helm of her sparking with the end of one of her digits, and continued to send out calming signals to him. She began rocking slightly and it wasn't long before the mechling was coaxed back into recharge.

She looked down at the tiny bot and smiled. She shifted him slightly and re-wrapped him in his blanket, her paranoia creeping back, but she made no attempt to remove herself from her young ones grip. She simply stood up and walked back to the room all three shared in the private quarter. She slipped back in, closing the door silently.

She passed the crib and went straight to the berth she shared with Optimus. His optics were shuttered, but they came online dimly as Elita climbed back onto the berth. He looked over Elita before his optics fell on the recharging yellow sparkling in her arms that was clutching onto her dependently. He smiled at them both, pulling Elita into him. They wrapped themselves around each other, shielding their little one between their joined sparks; effectively sandwiching him between them.

But as Optimus spark came close to the mechling, one tiny hand undid itself from Elita and made to grasp for Optimus, feeling the power of the matrix draw near. At catching nothing, the motion caused the tiny bot to stir from the short recharge he had gotten.

Bumblebee turned he little faceplates up to the soft, warm ones of his mech creator. Groggy optics scanned the big red and blue mech and reached out to him again. Optimus complied and moved close enough to have his chassis against the sparklings back, while Elita's spark was touching his front. This seemed to make the little spark happy. He murmured and sighed sleepily and quickly fell back into recharge.

"Oh Bumblebee…" Elita whispered adoringly, pushing the blanket around the mechling a little more, "He's just so perfect", this she whispered to Optimus.

"I know Elita. I know", he replied, stroking Bumblebee's little helm, letting love flow freely though his bonds to him and Elita. He looked at Bumblebee's discoloured faceplates from the energon tears and listened to his soft clicking, along with the occasional small rev of his internal systems.

"By the way, I think we need to upgrade his language and converse packs. He's getting to want to communicate more", Elita said offhandedly.

"Hm, yes I was beginning to notice that as well. We'll do it in the morning. It will be one less job to see to", the Prime said, slight annoyance at the next orns task making its way into his vocal processor.

Then Optimus lent forward and pushed his forehead into Elita's, looking his mate straight in the optics.

_~: I love you: ~_ he sent. Elita smiled back, pressing her mouth plates into her mates.

_~: Get some recharge. We have all those nobles to contend with tomorrow, and I have your brother to trick into sparkling sitting: ~_ Optimus laughed at this.

_~: Fair point: ~_ he conceded.

And without words, both Creators engaged their recharge subroutines, knowing that few things would ever overcome the feeling of contentment that they felt at that moment.

oOo

_(The next orn)_

Megatron sat in the rec-room aghast.

His brother's accursed femme and his bodyguards bit on the side were standing in front of him, fussing over the sparkling they had placed in his lap.

Smokescreen and Hound were sitting on the couch opposite, hiding barely concealed laughter. The two mechs themselves were entertaining three of the younglings who between themselves were playing, fighting and arguing with each other. Barricade had yet to turn up.

Smokescreen almost always had youngling sitting on his off shift due to the fact that his little brother, Bluestreak, often got upset at being away from him for more than a few joors. He was still by no means over the death of his Creators.

Hound however, was becoming an increasing familiar face to the younglings. Prowl had insisted he have more time with them since the enforcer felt Hound was a better influence on them than…certain others.

But the two mechs and three of the four younglings had been most surprised at seeing Elita and Chromia come into the rec-room, considering it was early orn and they should be attending to their duties. But to see them hauling a flabbergasted Lord Protector after them, well… it had been an unexpected development.

"Why do I have to do this?" Megatron argued irritably, trying to push the little yellow mechling back towards his Creator. Not that Bumblebee needed the encouragement. He didn't like not being with his Creators. He didn't want to be left in the rec-room without his adults. Bumblebee was doing his upmost best to get back into Elita's arms and Megatron was all for helping him.

"No… nah… no go… Eta!" Bumblebee called uncertainly, clicking and buzzing his plea as well for good measure. He didn't quite know how to properly formulate words and nor did he know a lot of vocabulary. He found it difficult to use he vocal processor and clicking was much easier. But Elita wasn't listening to his protests. She was instead focused on the mech his Creator was trying to leave him with.

"Because", Elita started, scruffing Bumblebee and placing him into Megatron hands as the mechling tried to climb back onto her again, "You have a free orn. Myself and Optimus are greeting nobles, which might I add you should thank Primus you have gotten out of, and we need a sparkling sitter", Elita finished, giving the Lord Protector an unyielding stare as he let Bumblebee out of his large clawed hands without any opposition, as the sparkling made another attempt to get back to his Creator.

"Precisely. I have a free orn, when does that ever happen? Once a vorn if I'm lucky, and what makes you think I want to spend it looking at my brother's bratling" Megaton spoke aggravated as the little yellow monster was put back into his hands yet again. But seeing both femmes' faceplates, he didn't let Bumblebee go this time; he valued his aft too much.

"What makes you think Bumblebee wants to be with you?" Chromia snorted, indicting to the way Bumblebee was struggling desperately to get out of Megatron's grasp. Megatron grunted. All three knew that wasn't why Bumblebee was trying to get back to Elita.

Most of the time, Elita and Optimus managed to keep Bumblebee with them, and he didn't need to be looked after by others. Bumblebee didn't like being separated from his Creators, and at such a young age it was unsurprising. But Megatron could generally put the little spark at ease better than most, which was a truly incredible thing in itself. Most bots took one look at the Lord Protector and made a bee line for the nearest exit. Megatron wasn't Bumblebee's favourite non-creator mech by a long way. Ironhide had beaten Megatron to that position almost as soon as the mechling had been sparked. But Ironhide was always busy seeing to the Prime. He was never in a position, like most of the mechs and femmes Bumblebee had taken a strong liking to, to sparkling sit.

That was the real reason why Elita had chosen Megatron to look after Bumblebee. The sparkling got along very well with the Lord Protector. And even though the big brute would never admit it, even under the threat of unending torture in the lowest levels of the Pit, would he ever admit that he too liked spending time with the curious yellow mechling.

"Why can't those two look after him?" Megatron argued, pointing at Smokescreen and Hound.

Not that the two mechs noticed. Hound was too busy trying to pry Sunstreaker's personal datapad he used for drawing out of Sideswipes hands, after the little trickster had stolen it and pressed the reset button, changing all of Sunstreaker's preset codes. Smokescreen was holding onto a scruffed Sunstreaker who was getting angry, which was never a good thing. And Bluestreak was stood on the floor staring at his caretakers and the twins and was starting to get upset at all the commotion. And all that before Barricade had even arrived.

Elita and Chromia looked at Megatron purposefully.

"I think they have enough to contend with. Four younglings will keep they busy enough without a sparkling to watch as well" Elita said without hesitation.

"Actually there is only three" Megatron pointed out, "and this thing" he indicted to the starting to cry sparkling, "is in recharge seventy percent of the time. They won't even notice he's there", Megatron justified, holding the sparkling by the scruff bar at arm length as he began to wail.

It was at that point that Jazz walked though the rec-room door with Barricade at foot. The ever energized youngling needed no telling were to go. He hugged his creator's leg before running off to join the mayhem the other younglings were creating.

"Bye Jazz", he called over his shoulder. Jazz waved him off, before smirking at the unfortunate situation Smokescreen and Hound seemed to be in. He was about to turn to exit when he caught sight of Megatron, the femmes and little Bumblebee. He cracked a smile.

**~ Tough luck dare' Megs ~** he laughed over a private com line.

**~ Get out or I'll set Prowl on you. I think he would take great enjoyment in fragging you to oblivion again ~** Megatron snarked, un-amused.

Wincing at the memory of that regrettably unforgettable interfacing session, Jazz left the rec-room without another word, unconsciously rubbing his chassis as he did.

"Now there are four younglings", Chromia pointed out, just to annoy the already annoyed Lord Protector. He sneered at her, but Elita wasn't listening to the banter.

Instead she sent out reassuring signals to her mechling and placed a hand affectionately over his helm.

"Bumblebee? Don't cry little one, I'm not going to be gone for long", Elita soothed.

"No go!" Bumblebee's high voice called out. He clicked and warbled as well to make sure his Creator understood she was not to leave without him.

Elita bent down when Bumblebee started to struggle in Megatron hands and the sound of gears grinding reached her audios. Though she stayed far enough away from her sparkling to prevent him from simply latching onto her.

"I need you to be a good sparkling for Megatron, okay? You like Megatron. He'll play with you and look after you until I get back" Elita spoke calmly to her keening child before sending a stern look to Megatron, "Won't you Megatron", she ground out, a sharp glint in her optics.

Megatron flinched at her look. Slaggin femmes.

"Yes Elita", Megatron grumbled begrudgingly, drawing the sparkling to him and wrapping an arm around the little fiend in defeat.

"Good", she said looking back to the whimpering sparkling, "See, you'll be fine. You be a good little bot, and if you ask nicely the younglings will let you play with them", she spoke, easing Bumblebee into a calmer state. "Okay?"

Bumblebee nodded, though energon tears still rolled down his faceplates and his mouthplates quivered slightly.

The two femmes took the sparkling's semi-subdued state as their cue to leave. Elita smiled at Bumblebee one last time before she and Chromia stood and left. At seeing his Creator moving away, Bumblebee moved forward in Megatron's arms and reached out towards her, tiny digits straining for his Creator. But when the doors quietly hissed shut behind them, Bumblebee's arms dropped limply by his sides and more silent energon tears coursed out of his optics.

"Eta gone?" Bumblebee hiccupped up to Megatron, lifting an arm again at the door, unsure if he was using the right words.

"Yes, Elita's gone", the large, still grouchy mech agreed.

Bumblebee shimmied back towards his caretakers chest and curled into it, finding some small manner of peace in doing so.

"You no gone", Bumblebee pleaded, "You stay…please?" the scared little mech appealed to the huge, hulking Lord Protector. Megatron looked at him, meeting the sparkling frightened gaze.

Every time Megatron looked at Bumblebee he couldn't help but feel there was something special about little bot. He just couldn't quite put a digit on what.

"I'm not going anywhere" Megatron reassured Bumblebee, tucking the sparkling closer into his own frame, "I couldn't go anywhere if I wanted to", the last part he grumbled more to himself. He still couldn't believe he'd been trapped into sparkling sitting on his orn off. Maybe he was getting soft. He didn't ponder the thought though. He merely picked up a control unit that was on the couch next to him, and flicked on the media screen to his side.

Bumblebee could feel Elita getting further away. He could feel Optimus even further away in the direction his femme creator was heading. He wished he could understand why he couldn't go with them. They had tried to tell him, but he didn't know what a noble was. Were they dangerous? Were his creators in danger? He didn't know. It made him scared. He stuck out one hand and fixed it firmly around the pointed edges of his caretaker's upper thigh armour. Megatron would keep him safe. Megatron would look after him.

But even that knowledge didn't stop him thinking about Elita.

Maybe he should go and play with younglings, like Elita had said. Bluestreak was great to play with, and the twins and Barricade were always fun to be around. They taught him all the best places to hide in the rec-room, and how to get away from their caretakers. They played all these pranks on the adults and sometimes he was allowed to help them if there was something he was strong enough to do, which sadly wasn't very often. Still, they never left him out. They always made sure he had a good place to watch the fireworks from. And one time, the fireworks were actually real.

All of a sudden Bumblebee wanted to go over to the younglings badly. His fear at being left by his Creator vanished. Now he was excited. He didn't often get the chance to create some havoc of his own.

He let go of Megatron and gave the massive mechs arm a good push as well as clicking at the Lord Protector a few times to get his attention.

"Down", Bumblebee demanded, pointing towards the brawling twins and the caretakers doing their upmost best to pull them apart. Megatron took one look at the animated Bumblebee and then one look in the direction he was pointing. He smirked. It was surprising Bumblebee didn't get whip lash from changing moods so quickly. He scruffed the mechling and carefully placed him on his feet on the floor, honing a sensor on the sparkling as he did. Elita would have his aft he didn't keep tabs on his brother's little yellow eye sore, or worse she'd set Chromia on him and _she'd_ have his aft.

'Yeah right' Bumblebee thought. He buckled down onto his skid plates almost as soon as he had been placed on his feet. Stupid adult trying to make him walk all the time. He couldn't go more than five or six paces without falling over. Crawling was much easier and not to mention much faster. He took off on all fours with as much speed as his joint motors and gyros allowed him to.

"Blue!" Bumblebee called to the sitting youngling who was holding a datapad up an also sitting Barricade.

"Cade look, Bee can talk" Bluestreak exclaimed, dropping the datapad and letting it clatter to the floor before getting to his feet and going over to their little friend, Barricade hot on his heels. The twins seemed to notice that Bumblebee was coming over to play and stopped their squabbling to go and join the threesome.

"Sunny! Sides!" Bumblebee screeched in delight as he pushed himself back into a sitting position and clapped his hands. He'd seen adult clap their hands when they approved of something so he assumed it was the right thing to do. When the Bluestreak laughed at his actions, he stored the information in his CPU that yes; clapping was the right thing to do.

Hound and Smokescreen sat back down on their couch, venting air. The five began twittering between themselves, half talking properly and half speaking sparkling gibberish for Bumblebee's benefit. It would be some time before the young sparkling fazed out of the clicking stage. He was still under two vorns old after all. It was surprising he was talking 'like a big bot' at all. Most sparklings were well into their third or fourth vorn before their communication packs were upgraded. But then there was something different about Bumblebee. He was unnaturally intelligent for his age, and considering he had only that orn had his language packs upgraded, he was more coherent than he should have been. He might well have still been all but welded to his Creators, but most sparklings were for there first few vorns. Certainly Bumblebee was special, but nobody seemed to be able to say why.

But there were four creatures that didn't have any queries about the curious sparkling.

After half a breem of chattering, Barricade and Bluestreak went off to retrieve toys from their caretakers, who happily sub-spaced a bag of them if it kept their charges entertained. Even though they were a bit basic for the younglings, they were more than complicated enough for little Bumblebee. Bluestreak, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe all plugged in game chips before syncing up and competing against one another, while Barricade showed Bumblebee how to put certain shaped blocks though certain shaped holes, so they would fall into the box they had come out of.

For some reason, Bumblebee couldn't understand what he had done wrong when he had taken the lid off the box and put all the blocks back inside in one go. Barricade was very insistent he had done it wrong but all the blocks were back in the box weren't they?

They went on playing until the younglings were taken off for lessons, and their caretakers had gone off for an on duty shift.

As Bumblebee watched the younglings leave, he crawled his way back over to Megatron releasing a tired whirl of air from his vents, after his cooling systems fought to return his internal temperature back to normal after so much playing.

Now it was just Bumblebee and Megatron. The rec-room was more or less deserted save for four or five aerials playing chips on a far off table and of course, the imposing Lord Protector and his little yellow charge.

"Hungry…" Bumblebee mumbled reaching up to his caretaker while he balanced precariously on his knee joints. Megatron huffed again wondering just how he had found himself in this situation. Scruffing the tired-looking infant and sitting him on one of his broad armoured thighs, Megatron produced a small bottle of glowing blue sparkling grade energon from what appeared to be nowhere.

But Bumblebee didn't care where it came from, he just cared that it was there. He flapped his multi hinged arms at the bottle.

"Ah, ah, mine!" he shouted at Megatron as the unlucky mech shook the energon. "Mine!"

"Impatient brat" Megatron groused, pushing the soft silicon nozzle into the eager mouthplates of the mechling. He tipped the little bots head back, keeping a firm hold of the bottle, to ensure the fluid ran easily down into the child's tanks. The last thing he wanted was the little runt purging all over his recently buffed armour because the thing had sucked in too much air while feeding.

Bumblebee lent himself against his caretaker's torso and suckled happily regularly squeaking and clicking in contentment. His tilted head caused him to look up brightly, albeit though drooping optics, into the dark blue orbs of the Lord Protector. Megatron's hollowed face softened and was embellished with a rarely seen, small and somewhat reluctant smile. He had his back to aerials; it wasn't like anyone could see him. But still…

Megatron disliked the way he felt so attached to his brother's kid. He felt destabilized by his emotional involvement with Bumblebee. He felt vulnerable and weakened, and they were feelings that were so foreign to him. He knew his brother and his sparkmate had become susceptible to a mental attack because of their connection to Bumblebee. He was also aware that the likes of Ironhide and Chromia, Jazz and Prowl and such likes were also falling in line on that dangerous road. But he never imagined that he would become exposed as well.

It wasn't long before Bumblebee felt his tanks becoming full and he pushed the practically empty bottle away. The bottle disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and not for the first time did Bumblebee wonder just how adults did that. Megatron clasped the mechling's scruff bar and lifted him to his shoulder. In a _very_ un-Megatron fashion, he gently rubbed the lower back panels of the tiny sparkling, ensuring that all the runts' tank connecters were engaged and properly pulsing the fuel around the tired little frame.

For the first time since the younglings left, Bumblebee became aware of how worn-out he was. His frame was limp like a rag doll. The little sparkling clutched an arm around his caretaker's neck, and felt his head fall weakly onto broad and dwarfing shoulder armour. He clicked and sighed sleepily and could faintly hear the irritated groan of his caretaker.

"Little bratling…" Megatron grumbled to himself as the mechling fell into slumber in quite an uncomfortable position for the Lord Protector. He produced a thermal blanket from his subspace that Elita had given him, along with a few other things such as the sparkling, low grade energon. He wrapped in around the tiny frame clinging to his neck and shoulder panels in recharge, before turning his attention back to the media screen.

At least it would be quiet for the next few joors, Megatron thought wryly.

oOo

_(Later that orn)_

"Thank Primus they're gone" Elita muttered as the party turned back in the direction of the city buildings. Chromia nodded her head once in agreement. In her opinion, there were far too many of the nobles who had there chrome plated helms stuck too far up their gold plated afts.

"Until we meet agen ya lil' glitch sticks!" Jazz waved his hand at the entrance gates the nobles had just left though in forewarning.

"You say that every time they come and you never do anything", Chromia mocked, moving to shadow Elita more closely. In the open they would become easier targets.

"Neither do ya. Ya all hate 'em as much as me, so dunna give me dat slag" and Jazz was right. They did all feel that way, but it didn't change that fact that none of them could physically do anything about the nobles.

"Jazz, you shouldn't talk about them like that. They're Cybertron's aristocracy. They are programmed to follow the values of the Cybertron of old to ensure the old traditions do not die out. It's not their fault that they act the way they do", Prowl rattled off, the information coming straight from his battle computer. Jazz made to contradict him but was beaten to the punch by the Prime himself.

"Actually, I am in agreement with Jazz". The other four bots turned to face their leader. It was not like Optimus to condone such comments, even if the rest of them did agree with Jazz's statement.

"Ya are Sir?" Jazz inquired, incredulous.

"Much as I respect and can understand the value of the old Cybertron, our world has progressed. If the nobles do not learn that there is no longer a place for their straight forward thinking and plain society ways of hierarchy, there will soon no longer be a Cybertron for them. And I do not wish for that to happen" he sighed. Elita came to walk beside him, understanding his never ending struggle to try to appease everyone. Unfortunately, they were both well aware that though they may win some battles in that area, they would always lose the war.

"Does Optimus have any more duties to attend to this orn Prowl? Bumblebee has been left with Megatron far longer than I had intended and the younglings will still be in lessons with their academy teacher. I dread to think what those two have gotten up to while we've been away". Chromia gave a crooked smile, knowing that Elita had been thinking of the mischief her own young ones had created in their early vorns when they had been separated from their Creators.

"Unfortunately yes" Prowl said. "As you know, today been the combat induction of successful new recruits into the Autobot forces. Ironhide is seeing to it, which is why I am here with Optimus instead of him" Prowl explained. Elita hadn't actually given any thought to why Ironhide wasn't present but now it did make sense. "It has been left to Ironhide and his subordinates to handle, but it is required for the Prime to give a small address to those who have not be sent back to the previous training sector to congratulate them on their progress", Prowl finished monotone.

There was a collected gusting of air though vents, as all frames began to advance in the direction of the training arenas.

oOo

The femme was incredible. They way she moved; the way she wielded her weapon, it was both magnificent and horrific all at the same time.

She was the sort of bot Ironhide hoped every time a combat induction was held, he would find; the brute strength, the refinement, and the shine in the hardened optics that held the killer instinct. It was a similar style of fighting that had drawn him to Chromia the first time he had laid optics on her on the day of their combat induction so many decavorns ago. This femme wasn't quite like Chromia. She wasn't as sharp with her movements and nor she didn't have the same feline agility, but she was head and shoulders above all of the other recruits. It annoyed him slightly to have gone though the entire orn, finding nothing but just above average abilities and then to come to the last fight of the day and find some real talent.

This femme had shown good skills the last time Ironhide had seen her when they evaluating the recruits target awareness. This had basically meant taking them all down to the firing range, handing them all a level two marking rifle and telling them to shoot a hollow frame from two hundreds yards away. She had hit the dead centre of the target - the empty spark case - almost every time.

But anyone could shoot at a hollow frame. It didn't move and it didn't fire back. In Ironhide CPU, only a combat induction proved how good a bot's natural fighting abilities really were.

They had been in teams of four, one team against the other. The objective was to neutralize only, but none of them were actually allowed to use weapons. In other words, in was a test of a recruit's hand-to-hand combat ability.

And this femme was picking them off one at a time. Her teammates didn't have to lift a digit. As soon as the starting bell had rung, she was taking them down in a flurry of red and gold. It was a striking paint job. It caught a bots attention before her sharp, pointed frame did, or her coarsely shaped but not the less enticing faceplates.

"That one has potential", Ironhide said to mech beside him, as he they looked across the training field to observe the match. Hoist nodded in agreement. The one hand medic had had little to do up until that point, but he could see from barely unchallenged attacks the femme was thrusting on her opponents, that he would soon have more than a couple of dents to knock out. He sent out a message over the com lines to First Aid, telling him that he would need his assistance as soon as he could get to the arenas. Sure he could bang out dents and do field patch ups as well as the next medic, but ruptured energon lines and possible on sight surgery from the ways things were going, were not his speciality.

"She reminds me of someone", the medic half-joked, giving Ironhide a cheerful rise of his optic ridges. Watching the femme fight, Ironhide opened his mouthplates to reply but shut them again briefly to give the medic a thin smile.

"Chromia has more style" he disagreed.

"I wonder how you would have replied to that had you not been able to feel me approaching and coming within audio range", Chromia asked as she came to stand beside her mate, her hand running over the plasma cannon mounted on her mate's right arm.

_~: The same way: ~_ he replied truthfully.

Chromia's hand stopped over a heat extractor on the cannon. She snatched it between her digits and squeezed it, crushing small dents in the sides. Ironhide's whole arm tensed as he grunted in discomfort.

_~: Good: ~_ Chromia replied sweetly, squeezing a little more tightly before releasing him.

"So, Ironhide, ad a gud orn beatin da slag out of unsuspecting recruits, an messin with der impressionable minds" Jazz asked, choosing like the rest of them to ignore the exchange between the two mates. After all, he had not yet become suicidal.

The titanic weapons specialist grunted again. So that was a yes.

A conch horn blew, signalling the end of the match. The femme immediately halted her attacks and drew back towards her own team.

Four mechs lay groaning on the floor, rubbing their damaged wiring and stinging gyros, trying to get to their feet to the protest of their aching frames.

Hoist was across the training field as fast as mechanically possible; his programming as a field medic taking over. He had a small scanner in hand and was being to process the injuries the femme had inflicted on her ill-fated opponents. First Aid came though the entrance doors as Hoist began to rattle though the damage report. First Aid inclined his head to his superiors first before going over to Hoist.

"Those two", Hoist indicated to the mossy green mech who was clutching a large gash on his left arm plating, and the navy blue mech who was still on the floor that had his hands covering his lower left leg armour. Both sets of hands had a slow stream of blue energon seeping out between them. "Are sporting partially spilt secondary energon lines in the fomented areas. He", Hoist turned to point at the dark indigo mech standing to one side, "has a full set of broken right wrist gears, with possible neural circuit damage from the small laceration on the back his helm, but has minimal energon loss so is in better form than expected. And that one" Hoist pointed to the last and smallest of the four. A silver mech who was one his feet and scowling profusely at the femme who had beaten him, "has a cracked left cheek plate and two partially loosened right optic bolts, with one optic to main processor connector fuse blown. But other than the malfunctioning optic nerve receptor, he had escaped this little escapade with nothing more than a scratched paint job and the odd bit of dented armour", Hoist finished off happily, glad the damage wasn't in fact as bad as he had thought it would be. But it was bad enough.

The two medics helped the wounded out of the arenas in silence as they went to meet the Hatchet for the first time. One had to pity them…

Another three mechs stood staring at the femme that had, thank Primus, been on _their_ team. She had taken all the opposition down and she hadn't even fully engaged her cooling systems. Overpowering four mechs, three of which had been quite considerably bigger than herself, had apparently barely even crossed though her processor. The three hadn't even engaged in the fighting for fear of getting in her way. She might not have been wielding an actual weapon, but those claws looked mighty sharp.

The red and gold femme stood straight and rolled her shoulder joints as she did, relaxing tense connectors and smoothing a slightly dislodged piece of chest armour. But other than that and few superficial scratches and the odd dent, she had taken next to no damage.

"Impressive", Chromia spoke to the femme, as all four of the recruits stood to attention as their superiors came over. "Not many new recruits could take on four mechs almost singlehandedly and take as little damage as you have" Chromia analysed as she walked around the femme, inspecting her well armoured frame with a critical eye. The femme kept her face void of emotion, but spoke in the fashion that recruits were taught to speak when talking to ranked officers.

"Thank you ma'am", the femme courteously replied. Chromia regarded her. There was something she didn't like about this femme. Chromia inspected the chest amour plate that was still slightly ajar, but the femme didn't react in any way. She was so blank she reminded Chromia of a drone. Chromia raised her optics ridges a little as she turned back to face her mate.

Ironhide tilted his head back in understanding.

"The Primes address is to be postponed until all recruits can be present. Dismissed", Ironhide rumbled. The four recruits on the field and a dozen more from the far viewing bar inclined their heads to the Prime and began to filter out. "Not you", Ironhide called to femme who was in the process of turning towards the exit. A glint of trepidation passed though her optics but it was quickly locked away behind her emotionless mask. Instead the femme stood to attention again until only herself and Autobot commanders remained.

A moment of silence passed.

"You have quite the temperament", Elita observed as she like Chromia had done, walked around the femme, examining her.

"It's controlled ma'am. I only release it on my enemies", the femme looked straight at the Prime Consort, not being in intimated at the actions both Chromia and Elita had used. She was proving to be a hard one to crack. Usually recruits were easily influenced and submissive to their superiors, but this femme was clearly unfazed by both Elita's and Chromia's attempts at putting her in her place. It wasn't that they didn't like her attitude, but rather soldiers who at this stage weren't bending over backwards to appease the higher ups could prove to be dangerous in war combat. This was mainly because they had a tendency to go against commands should they feel that there way of addressing the situation was better than what had been ordered.

Soldiers like this could get bots killed.

"You see the other recruits as your enemies?" Elita questioned her gaze hardening seriously as she attempted again to break though the femme's wall. She must have succeeded on some level for the femme faltered in her blank look and hesitated before answering.

"They were my opponents' ma'am. I treated them as such", she replied slowly.

"Yeah, we saw dat", Jazz said, moving out from behind Prowl to get a good look at the femme for himself. Prowl moved with him, unwilling to let his bonded wonder too far.

The femme turned her head slightly in Jazz's direction, but was careful to keep her focus upon Elita out of required respect. She gave a small nod with a polite shutter of her optics to acknowledge his words.

"Where did you train?" it was Ironhide that moved to speak this time, addressing the femme as he loomed over her.

With a small smirk she answered with sly undertones "Here and there Sir. I've been around, seen a lot of our world. There are bots in the lower levels of the cities that are more than just unsavoury. A fair few of those bots see it as a kill or be killed world. If you didn't know how to fight then they would extinguish your spark with little thought and use your frame for spare parts and scrap metal".

"So you learnt to fight as a means of self defence" Chromia asked coolly, still studying the femme before her.

"Yes and no ma'am. I learnt to fight out of necessity, not for any one reason in particular".

There was another moment of silence as CPU's processed information and analyzed the current situation.

Optimus, who had remained silent up until now, decided to track the femme down a different path.

"What is your designation?" he asked casually, optics warm and oddly welcoming. Unlike the rest of her superiors, he seemed to be the only one that was at perfect ease around her.

"Flamewar Sir. My name is Flamewar" the femme answered with a small smile. "And if I may say My Lord, it is an honour to meet you. I hope to one day be able to help bring justice to the people, under the banner of your name", she spoke with honest empathy.

Optimus considered her with kind and knowing optics, but he said nothing.

"It says in your files that you're originally from Centurion Traxes, correct?" Prowl asked after taking a clip board from Ironhide with all the recruits' credentials.

"Yes Sir"

"Sparked via the Allspark?"

"Yes Sir"

"Creator bond instilled straight after the initial sparking?"

"Yes Sir"

"Are your Creators still alive?"

"No Sir"

"What happened to them?" Prowl queered frankly, as he had with all his questions.

"Offlined in the Great Kaon Uprising Sir" Flamewar couldn't help it as her voice took on a bitter tone.

Prowl looked at her with his own ever stoic blank expression. He had succeeded were his partners had failed; he had managed to elicit an emotional response from the femme.

"How old were you?" Prowl pressed on.

For the first time Flamewar couldn't hold his gaze. She dropped her optics to the floor and after some deliberation replied quietly, "Eighteen vorns Sir".

"Sparkling or youngling?"

"Sparkling Sir"

"Where you approaching upgrading?"

"Yes Sir"

Prowl looked content with his answers until his battle computer churned out a very good question.

"Were your Creators offlinned by Autobots?" he questioned, pinning her down up his stare. The others seem to bristle around him, though the Prime remained unmoved.

"No Sir. They were extinguished in the initial rioting before the Autobots arrived" Flamewar said never hesitating, meeting his stare.

This sent even more alarm bells going off in their processors. Was this femme here to get revenge because the Autobots hadn't been able to save her Creators? Did she blame them? Was she looking for an opportunity to assassinate the Prime and/or Prime's Consort? Or would she try to use Bumblebee to cripple the Prime instead?

"Why do you want to be an Autobot?" Optimus asked suddenly.

"Because Sir" Flamewar began, "the Autobots _save people_. I want to fight to protect others instead of just fighting. I want to make a difference. Like I said Sir, I've been around. But I can't change anything on my own. The Autobots can affect the bigger picture. I want to be a part of that. I've been wandering the planet for too long. This isn't the first time I have become subservient to another Sir. I will follow your orders without question. I believe in your cause. I do not betray those whom I have sworn to serve Lord Prime".

"Then I look forward to seeing you progress", Optimus said kindly, but his spark twisted slightly. "But I will warn you, here in the Autobots, we work together. You will not be trained to be a sparkless killing machine and we fight as a team", he chided. "I think you would do well to remember that". Optimus gave Flamewar a meaningful look.

"Yes Sir. I'm sorry, Sir, for my earlier actions", Flamewar replied.

"Don't apologize for what you did. You fought very well. But rather you should consider how you fought on your own and not as part of the team you were in. Understood?"

"Yes Sir".

Optimus seemed satisfied with her responses.

"Dismissed" he ordered, optics never leaving the femme as she bowed and left. Looks were shared but Optimus just kept looking directly at the exit that Flamewar had left though. As soon as she was gone though, his mask of kindness dissipated, and he unwittingly sent worry though his bond to Elita.

_~: Optimus… are you alright? : ~_ Elita queered with concern and she came beside him and slipped her hand into his. He didn't answer her. Instead he turned back to his commanders, all warmness from his face gone. Instead it had been replaced with perilous disapproval.

"Watch her", he ordered his tone and mood taking on graveness. They nodded in affirmative, saying nothing at the Primes disparaging commands. He moved with Elita to head back in the direction of the rec-room to pick up their mechling.

_~: Optimus, what's wrong? Your spark is pulsing oddly: ~_ Elita pushed, worry and concern for her mate echoing down their bond.

_~: It's nothing to concern ourselves with just yet, Dearspark: ~_ Optimus said with finality. Elita recoiled a little. It wasn't often her mate was so closed with her.

But Optimus wasn't doing so out of malice towards his mate, oh no. But he didn't want to tell her about what had just happened to him when he had met the femme. The matrix had pushed against his spark, clouding his processors for an astrosecond before the past Primes began whispering words of warning into the still young Prime's CPU.

"_Beware of the painted black soldiers,_

_That drone on the violet stare,_

_Beware of the fire before you,_

_Beware, young Prime, beware"_

And if Optimus was being honest with himself, he could have sworn he heard a fading high pitched cry shadowed behind their words.

Curse the Primes chanting their riddles. Did they not know the meaning of a straight forward warning or answer?

It had been a credit to his self control that he had been able to remain calm and natural towards the femme, but it took even more to stop his spark alerting Elita to the danger. He didn't want them to know. What could they do? Flamewar had done nothing as of yet. And for all Optimus knew, the Primes weren't even speaking about Flamewar. For now it was best to watch.

Yet that did little to soothe his frayed nerve connectors, as the Prime played over the whispering like a mantra.

'_Beware, young Prime, beware, Beware, young Prime, beware…' _

* * *

><p><em>So I wasn't really very happy with this chapter. It just didn't seem to flow very well when I was writing it. I'm sort of in the middle of going from where I was, to where I want to be so please bare with me.<em>

_Most of this chapter is fluff, but it also has a purpose. I needed to get Bumblebee talking, and I needed to show the relationship Megatron holds in regard to Bumblebee. You might say only the last section of this chapter is really relevant but hey-ho what's done is done. _

_The song for this chapter is __**"The Only Exception"**__ by the __**"Glee Cast" **__as there are three definite different tones to this chapter, the song reflects the largest section which is the one in the middle with Megatron and Bee. It's supposed to try and reflect how Megatron feels about Bumblebee. _

_Thought it would be cool that instead of the past Primes just answering Optimus like they do in a lot of the fics I have read, why not have them being mysterious and prophetic. Tell me what you think._


End file.
